First things first. Any of you who have previously read this story already know this, but to any new readers, I must say this. This story is NOT my original work. It ultimately belongs to Namless-Origin. Unfortunately, life has thrown him a very bad hand, and as such, he is taking a Leave of Absence from FF. To that end, he has asked me to take in his story and keep it alive, until a time he can come back.
Now, I must be clear on a few points first. All material in the first thirteen chapters are his. I may have gone in, and edited slightly or spruced them up, but all content is of his making. The content that comes from me will begin in Chapter 14.
Secondly, and please understand, Blood of a Dragon and Uncertain Future will be taking prioirty over this story in terms of updates. There several reasons for this, but primarily it is because those stories I have actual plans and outlines for where they are going. Fires of Passion will take some time for me to lay out and decide where I am taking it.
I WILL strive to update this as often as possible, however, do not get discouraged by lack of activity. As I have said before, I will NEVER abandon a story (hence why I am adopting this one). It may take weeks or months to update, but they shall never be forgotten. As we speak, I am currently drawing up a rough outline for Fires, and hope to at least get one new chapter up soon.
Thank you for your understanding, and please enjoy another wonderful ExS tale.
Chapter 1 - Discovery
An eerie breeze blew through the thick forest known to all throughout Alagaësia as the Spine. It was a terrible place where legends were told, where myths were created, and heroes never returned. The dense forests of the Spine might've been the most unfortunate parts throughout the entire land. But many poor farm-folk usually had no choice, but to venture into the treacherous mountainside for food and supplies for the upcoming winter months. One villager who had managed to enter the cursed mountains, and return, several times was Eragon. The young farm-hand had been sent up into the Spine for a hunt by his adoptive parent, and uncle, Garrow.
For most of the year, Eragon, his uncle Garrow, and cousin Roran would grow and harvest their crops and live off the land, selling off any excess growth for other much needed supplies which they weren't able to grow, build, or think about during the rest of the year. But this year hadn't been good for them. Which was exactly why Garrow sent Eragon up into the cursed mountainside. To try and catch some game to put less stress on the price his uncle could sell his crops for.
It had been hours since Eragon had started chasing one in-particular doe, which was misfortunately hobbling around through the forest, trying to escape Eragon and remain alive for another day. Eragon knew that if he didn't kill it, a wolf would definitely get to her. So it was easier to put it out of its misery now, rather than letting it suffer before the inevitable.
Eragon had scouted the injured animal away from its herd. And was waiting to pick his moment. Waiting to find the right landscape, with no obstacles, little to no elevation, and for the damned wind to disappear completely. With his bow at the ready, all Eragon needed was the right circumstances.
The young hunter crept slowly through the thick underbrush. His hunt was always just out of sight, all because he didn't want to startle the poor thing. Eventually it would tire out and collapse on the ground, which would've been too easy for Eragon, but he would've taken any luck given to him at the time. Anything to help out his family.
Eragon knelt low to the ground. His greatest fear had come true. The injured doe that he'd been chasing was laying in the middle of a clearing, but with a wolf's jaw wrapped firmly around its neck, the kill was taken. Eragon lifted his bow and took aim at the wolf, only to watch as a group of three more emerged from the bushes. The wolf had a family, and he was only trying to feed it. Eragon slowly released the tension within his arm and lowered the weapon. Turning away in defeat, it had been the fifth day in a row where he was unsuccessful. Tomorrow was his last chance. If he didn't catch anything by sundown the next day, it would've been a waste of time which he could've spent trying to gather up the last few rows of that year's growth. It wasn't something he was looking forward to, yet always remained inevitable in the back of his mind.
As the young hunter set up camp and ate a light meal, he headed off to bed early, planning on starting his hunt earlier the next morning. Giving him the best chance to find something by the end of the day.
Eragon awoke well before dawn the next morning. Finding his bearings from several marks left out from the previous night. The air was still, which gave him a good feeling about the day. Although it was just light enough to see his hand at maximum reach, Eragon knew that the risk had to be taken.
After Eragon had packed up all his belongings, there was a dull thud behind him. Eragon turned around immediately, wondering what had made the noise. He drew out his knife waiting for something to attack, but, everything was still. He stood there for another moment, waiting for something to show itself but nothing was all he saw. As Eragon turned back to his pack and sheathed his knife was when everything happened. There was a thunder of hooves against the dirt as an entire herd of deer fled past Eragon. Each one missing him by mere inches. Once the stampede had ended, Eragon stood shocked. He was surprised at how each one had managed to miss him completely, but what confused him more was why they were running. It was far too early for anyone else to be out and about. Let alone in the Spine. He was the only one 'mad' enough to even venture up into the mountains. Curiosity got the better of the hunter as he trekked off in the opposite direction of the startled herd. By the time Eragon had prepared his bow the herd would've been lost, so there was no point in following them anyway.
Eragon strode off into the wilderness, taking note of where he was going so he could return to camp and collect his things after investigating what had caused the dull thud from before. Eragon continued onward, the smell of charred wood becoming all to prominent as he continued forward, and it only grew stronger as the young hunter moved closer to his destination.
It took just over ten minutes for Eragon to reach the site, and not a soul was to be seen. Everything was dead still, there was a fine mist that crawled along the mountain floor, The intense scent of charred or burnt wood was almost unbearable. When he saw what had caused it. In the middle of a tree, sheared directly in half and charred iron black, was a beautifully clean blue stone. The Sapphire object was slightly metallic in colour, and pure white veins traced across its surface, crossing over paths and netting around the entire stone. Eragon was dumbfounded at what he saw. Perhaps luck did mean something after all. He took a step closer, but gained second thoughts. Never before had he seen anything like this, inspecting the damage closely, it was comparable to what a lightning storm was capable of, yet, the rocks appearance was much more of a mystery to him.
Eragon was conflicted. He wanted to take the stone home because he had nothing else of worth from the entire hunt. Yet, if he did, his uncle would berate him for bringing something that seemingly appeared by magic into the house, it was the only explanation! Garrow doesn't have to know. Eragon thought to himself. Maybe someone in the village would know something more about it. The young hunter stepped towards the charred remains and slowly picked up the blue stone. Its weight surprisingly light for the image it carried. Happy enough with his find, Eragon headed back to camp to collect his gear, and head back off to Carvahall. It could pay for some meat in the very least.
After collecting his supplies and checking his bearings once more, Eragon headed off back towards home much earlier than he had originally expected to. It took several hours for the young hunter to leave the mountainous landscape of the Spine, which was almost the same time it took to reach his camping-ground nearly a week ago. The polished stone's weight wasn't slowing him down much, which meant he could be home well before sundown if everything went according to plan.
The sun was well into the sky, as Eragon set his belongings down on a cliff-face overlooking Palancar valley. Thin tendrils of smoke rose from several locations throughout the valley, and in less than a moment of searching, Eragon spotted Carvahall, and the countless crop-fields that surrounded the small town. Eragon tore off a small piece of his remaining ration of bread, and took a moment to enjoy the view while it lasted. It would be at least several months before he even considered journeying back up into the Spine, as Winters had been harsh over the past few years, and this year was shaping up to be another one to remember. There was still another full month of Fall remaining, and already snow had been falling in above average amounts. Something about this year didn't feel right to Eragon.
After several minutes of gathering up as many memories of the view as possible, Eragon slung his pack onto his back, and headed down the mountainside. He estimated that it would take about two hours to get back to Carvahall, and, Eragon would head over to Sloan's to see if he could get anything of value out of the stone. Eragon hated Sloan, but the feelings were mutual. There were only two things that stopped Eragon from attacking Sloan at any opportunity. The fact that Katrina, Sloan's only daughter, and Roran were in love with each other, and that Garrow had taught Eragon better manners than to lash out at an adult. Also because he was only the town's butcher, and Eragon happened to need his services often as of late.
The trip down the mountainside was slow and treacherous. The closer to the ground Eragon walked, the thicker the snow became. Granted that when he reached the bottom it was only up to the top of his foot, any misplaced foot on a snow-covered rock could mean anything from a twisted ankle, to a death-slide down to the bottom. Neither of which sounded too appealing to Eragon. The young hunter strolled into town as he normally did. Saying hello to anyone he knew, and gave a quick smile to people he didn't. Although the village was small, its inhabitants were far-spread throughout the valley. Eragon lived the furthest away from the town, but it was still much closer than Therinsford, the largest settlement in all of Palancar valley.
After several minutes of navigating his way through the town, Eragon finally made his way to the old story-teller's hut. Brom was rarely seen outside during the daytime. Opting to spend his nights out as they added to the mood with his stories. Some said that he hated the daylight or anything brightly coloured except a flame. But to Eragon it was all just a rumour started by children who couldn't tell a horse from a donkey.
The young hunter knocked once on the old man's door, receiving a slight grunt in response. Eragon stood patiently for a moment, but when he received no more sign, he knocked once more. The door swung inward quickly, revealing a haggard old man with a thick grey beard. "What do you want?" He grunted coarsely.
"I was wondering if I could have a minute of your time." Eragon replied, still keeping his polite outlook.
"Why? What did I ever do to you?"
"I wanted to ask you about something from one of your stories." Eragon leant in closer and lowered his voice. "Something about magic."
The old man retreated from his doorframe and pushed it open wider. Waving his hand inwardly, gesturing for Eragon to step inside. The hut was a mess. There was a single hammock hanging over a corner and many shelves covered in lots of old pieces of cloth or broken furniture. With all the spare materials on one shelf alone Eragon figured he could make the hut an entire new frame. But he wasn't going to comment on the old man's home. "What is it that you want to know Eragon? There are many secrets a man must know before even trying to practise magic. I know so myself..."
"The story you told a week ago. The one about how Galbatorix used fireballs to burn down an entire village. Can that really happen?"
"Why of course it can. I don't make up these stories you know. I was there when he did it! Sure, his forsaken dragon helped him, but I saw it with my own eyes I did!"
"Is it possible to create a fireball, and sent it somewhere else?"
"You mean like a transport spell?" Eragon nodded eagerly, as if finding his answer would be easier than first expected. "Nay, that isn't possible. You can't send magic to another location with magic. It can be deflected, re-directed or manipulated. But not transported." Brom paused for a moment and leant back in his chair. "It has been said that if a transportation spell is used it causes an explosion, but I have never witnessed one appearing. I've watched people send items, but never seen one appear."
That's it! It was sent by magic! "Then why..." Eragon reached around into his bag, pulling out the stone wrapped in cloth to prevent it from scratching. "Would someone send something like this to the Spine?"
The old man's eyes widened as the sapphire blue stone was revealed. Immediately the old man stood up and walked to the other side of his tent. "Where did you get that?"
"I found it in the Spine. It was sent there because I saw a tree split in two by it. And it looked like it was a fireball because everything was burnt around it."
"So then it's true. Transportation spells do cause an explosion at the point of destination."
"But why would someone send this to the Spine?"
"I don't know Eragon. But what I do know is that isn't an ordinary stone. Can't you feel it? There is something unnatural about it, I know it! Keep it hidden, let no-one know you have it, because I'll bet my hut that it came from the wretched king himself! Let it be your secret, and yours only! I won't tell anyone if no-one else finds out. Go home Eragon, There is nothing more here for you." Brom watched as Eragon re-wrapped up the flawless stone and put it back in his bag.
"What's so special about this stone? It's just a polished rock."
"I said go home!" The old man rushed towards Eragon and opened the door forcibly, sending Eragon out and slamming it shut just as quickly.
Eragon didn't want to believe the old man's words. The very stone he found in the Spine was once in possession of the tyrant king. The very essence of that thought meant that Eragon had the entire village in danger of the king's wrath. Or maybe it was the very opposite. Maybe the stone wasn't worth anything to the king, so he had it sent away, just for something to do. The whole situation seemed surreal. As if the stone Eragon carried on his back meant nothing, yet everything. Either way, Eragon had the stone in his possession. If the king wanted it back, he would have to come and get it.
It was early afternoon as Eragon started his trek back to his home. The hours he had planned to bargain for a good price for the stone had turned into free-time, which he wanted nothing more than to get home after a week on his own. Although he hadn't caught anything, Eragon wasn't going home empty handed. He had the stone for himself, but for the family, he had nothing but the stories of his near-misses and 'only just' encounters. The story of the sapphire stone would remain a mystery. He would put it under his bed and leave it there until either he was moving away, or the king wanted it back, assuming that Brom's story was correct. But for the moment, it was his, and his only.
Eragon strolled down the road towards his house. The hour long walk through the light snow quickly diminished as two human silhouettes appeared in the field, bobbing up and down sifting through the tracks to collect the last few pieces of crop which they hadn't reached over the previous day's work. And the moment Roran glanced down the road, he stood up and walked towards his younger cousin, throwing what he had collected into the wheel-barrow placed beside him.
"So, the hunter returns after a week of camping under the stars. What's it like having so much free-time? Eh Eragon?" Roran's comments pitched greatly with much sarcasm.
"Shut up Roran. I don't see you going up into those mountains anytime soon." Eragon just walked past his obviously annoyed cousin and headed towards the house.
"Roran! You finish up here." Garrow called out, moving towards the house with Eragon, promptly wrapping an arm around his shoulder as they walked. Roran grumbled incoherently for a few moments until they were out of earshot. "Don't worry about him Eragon. With the early snowfall we've been pushed to pull in the crops faster than expected. We've both been working non-stop for the past four days."
"I didn't know it was snowing here, otherwise I would've come home sooner."
"Don't worry yourself Eragon. You need to enjoy this time while it lasts. You won't be fifteen forever, take some time to relax before you have to join the working world." Garrow pushed open the door to their home and allowed Eragon inside.
"I'm sorry I couldn't catch anything. I was going to take a deer, but a wolf beat me to it."
"Why didn't you just shoot the wolf?"
"It had a family. I couldn't kill the father of those cubs."
"So instead you'd rather us go starving." Eragon glanced towards his uncle then turned towards his room. "I received word from town the other day that the traders are coming up again. As far as I know, they could be here as soon as next week, but if Winter comes along, and they're not here. We'll have to survive on what we have."
"I'm sorry I didn't catch anything uncle."
"We'll make it Eragon. Same as every year. I'll see you for supper."
Eragon entered his room, closed his door, and placed his pack on the bed. Reaching into it he pulled out the stone and unwrapped the cloth from around it. Eragon ran his fingers along its surface, feeling no friction against his fingertips. Eragon thought about what Brom had told him once more. Wondering if any of what the old man said was actually true. Maybe it was just a shiny rock that was sent to the Spine by mistake. Yet Eragon couldn't help but feel that there was something special about the stone, that there was an aura about it that he couldn't quite put his finger on. Either way, it was his, and would remain that way until such a moment arose.
On second thought, it might be easier to update and polish these chapters one at a time.
As of now, I'm going to take them down and rework them, re-posting them once they have been reworked. This will also give me a chance to properly formulate a plan as to how to continue this story