This is my first 'Inheritence Cycle' fanfiction, so it may be a little different…
All critiques are always welcomed.
Disclaimer: I do not own the 'Inheritence Cycle', however the majority of the ideas included are my own. So be original and don't be a copycat.
I would like to thank 'Forestwater' and 'sparrowhawk51' for all their support in my writing—and especially to 'Forestwater' for consistently being an ace beta reader :)
Please Note: This chapter is a prologue, all information contained is relevant.
Key:
*flashback/visions*
Translations are at the end.
Hope you enjoy it! ^;^
Zoe x
In a dimension unknown to Alagaësia, a new world lies — or perhaps it was old? — cradled in the stars. Its name is Earth. This world was different from the Alagaësia, for the only magic was of make-believe. This world has seen many wars and also many wonders. There was always beauty around; you just have to really open your eyes to see it. The idea of magic became only of myths and legends; the last remnants remain with books. This world has millions upon millions of these treasures, but no matter how great they are, one can only step into the world of magic briefly. This world was highly hectic and the old ways were stripped. Few ever stop to smell the roses; few ever realise the roses exist.
Within a large spiraled stone tower, an ebony-rimmed glass stood centre over a sweet cherry wood table. It was fairly dark, as the sun had said its farewells to the midnight blue sky, leaving the earth exposed to the dark — except for the odd candle glows throughout the tower. Nature's song lulled the nearby forests into a pleasant slumber. You could hear it from the slanted windows; it was hard resisting joining in alongside it. The stone walls were rough and cold, although comforting for they were a somewhat pleasant shelter. A hard clunking sound came up the spiral steps, and an old fellow emerged. He was small and meek-looking, yet his grey eyes told of age and wisdom. He wore a simple black robe that was faded with age.
He stepped closer to the table. With a weathered hand outstretched, he traced the outlines of the ebony rim and focused on the glass. He leaned in, looking deeply into the glass before him and analysing each detail. He muttered something, and the clouds swirling over the glass's surface began to change. Strange shapes began to appear in the glass -- a hand here, a face there, a tree near the bottom, all of them twisted and demented. The old man leaned in closer until his nose almost touched the glass, and his body went slack as he fell under the glass's spell.
*
"There is a massive world I see. It holds many secrets -- for that, I continue to look. There is much death and destruction here; I can see the past and the future, and believe this pain will never end. Many thousands have died from false leadership, many times crimson droplets rained down. Like our own world, there are many languages, but the different quantities of those tongues are vast. The different cultures are ever-changing as it separates the people. Towards the cities great towers loom, which rip into the skies. Across it metal dragons fly, holding many within its belly. Many billions occupy this over-crowded place, draining its spirit rapidly as they grow in number. This world contains such vast knowledge it appears alien and unreal to the eye. However, this world is full of greed and hate. Thick smogs grow to smother the planet with unearthly embers, encasing it and blocking out the sun. The old wonders begin to fade as the new rockets upward. This is the world that begins to forget its own history.
"But there is hope. I see its people fighting to protect it. I see the weak given strength once more. I see forgiveness emerging from lost souls. This is a world that has potential, if led in the right direction."
*
A strong, broad man tugged him away, stunning the fellow in the process. He turned and looked into the man's eyes.
"Is that all you see? Is there any chance—" But he cut himself off before continuing. If you looked closely, just for a brief moment, you would have seen a faint glimmer of hope shine within his aged, green eyes. He returned to the exhausted fellow before him and away from his thoughts.
"Could the Crystal Lily be there?" he questioned, shaking the old man roughly for an answer.
"I-I don't—" he mumbled. The stronger man shook him violently.
"Could the Crystal Lily be there?!?" The fellow, dazed and worn, shrugged once more and, with one last apologetic glance, shut his old crinkled eyes and collapsed.
The stronger man caught him just in time; one second later and he would have injured his drained body. Not knowing what to do, he placed the man carefully onto the plush red seat beside the window, and then stood erect once more. This was not what he had wanted.
He looked down towards the fellow beneath him in frustration.
"There has got to be a way," he huffed, put his hand to his head and moved a few strands of dark hair behind his pointed ears. He closed his eyes in denial, hoping an idea would strike him when he opened them, but none did come. Frustrated at his lack of ideas he charged out of the room, disgusted and annoyed.
"She will be found," he paused "there has to be a way."
"Arggg!" He smashed his fist against the oak table. A loud crack rang in the air. Why was he so incompetent?
"I will find a way," he breathed.
He inhaled deeply and smoothed out the creases in his green robes. With one last glance towards the fallen magician, he made his exit from the tower and descended down the spiral stairs. He passed few on his way to his destination. He ought to send someone to help his comrade, even if Tegalad had failed him.
He grabbed the arm of a passing maiden. "Go to the tower over there. Someone needs help." He couldn't recall her name. But minor details such as names were not important to him right now. Obediently she turned and hurried back the way he'd came.
He'd thank her later. Maybe.
The tight corridor widened as he entered a new set of pine doors and into a hall fit for a king. This room was built of stone also, but foliage that covered each corner and wall. Thick vines coated the ceiling with bright flowers and fruits splattered here and there. Normally this was his favourite room, but not now. A whiff of sweet citrus hit him, making his heart throb painfully. His jaw tightened. She adored citrus fruits; oranges were her favourite. He shook it off with a sigh. She was not lost just yet –just not quite here.
He made his way through the enclosed forest and towards the governors' table. It had room for five, but today only two would be present. As he came nearer, he hesitated. He did not feel like sitting. He wanted to get back into action. To find her.
A tall man closed the space between himself and the green-robed man. He wore deep crimson robes that just touched the ground beneath him. A ruby ring wound around his finger like a snake. He looked towards the green-robed man and placed two fingers to his lips. "Atra esterni ono thelduin."
"Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr," he replied.
"Un du evarinya ono varda. Ebrithil Ruscion." He bowed. "What's the plan?" he asked, straightening up and loosening his collar.
"Daugon, pömnuria fricai." He sighed, "As much as I wish there was a plan, I don't have any ideas."
"But, what about Ra -- I mean, the Crystal Lily? Surely you haven't given up on her just yet?" He raised his eyebrows incredulously.
"Of course not!" he yelled, smashing his fist into the table. He froze, realizing what he had done, and he stepped back. His hand was shaking. "I-I'm sorry. I didn't mean to --"
"It's fine. It's only rational to behave as such. But I would prefer it if you didn't express these emotions at the present time — or dent the furniture. We have business to attend to." He pulled a long, string-bound scroll out from inside of his robe pocket.
"Surely that can't…" He trailed off, studying the scroll with wide eyes.
"I have reason to believe a shade was seen following the Crystal Lily. We do not know if he entered the void, but there is a chance --"
"That he poisoned her," the other man breathed, sinking into one of the chairs littered about the room.
Daugon nodded. At least there was still a chance for the other event to go smoothly. Maybe the shade wouldn't find either of them.
"Is there . . . Is there any chance that she could make it?" He looked towards Daugon hopefully. It was now or never. He needed to know the truth. No matter how much it pained him, he had to know.
Daugon bit his lip hard enough to draw blood. He wiped it away, ignoring the red smear it left on his hand. He didn't like this -- he was just the messenger. It wasn't his fault.
But maybe if he'd —
No, he shouldn't think about it; it was a tough decision, but he had had to do it. No regrets.
He looked directly into Ruscion's fierce eyes. He took a deep breath. "There is a small chance."
Ruscion's face froze for a second, torn between pure joy and pain that this torturous waiting and searching wasn't over. Then a smile spread across his face. "I knew it. My Crystal Lily is a strong girl. No poison could hold her down!"
"But. . . ."
"But what?"
"If the shade has poisoned her, she only has a century or two at most."
"But we'll find her, and give her the antidote."
"I'm afraid that's a lot easier said that done. The shade is known for using black magic. If we cannot find her in time, it'll be too late."
"So why are we still standing here? Let's get going!" He leapt to his feet, grabbing his cloak, and beckoned Daugon over. "Aren't you coming?"
"I'm sorry, sir, I cannot let you go." He gnawed at the inside of his cheek, trying to figure out the best way to say it. "You're forgetting about the prophecy. If you leave, you may not be able to return in time."
Ruscion collapsed to his knees, letting his head fall into his hands. Daugon and a few others came instantly to support the man, but he turned them away.
He couldn't see. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. If she was lost, it was over.
"She is lost," he cried, with a rogue tear left to crash to the ground. He tried to shake it off, but the feeling of loss overwhelmed him. She couldn't be dead, he wouldn't believe it. Well that was what they all assumed; just lost they'd say…lost meaning dead, deceased, kicked the bucket.
Memories flashed through his mind, each one bringing more pain. If he could cut out the part of his brain that made him feel, made him remember. . . . But the memories were coming too fast for him to think, let alone find a knife. He could do nothing but cradle his head and cry.
*
A few yards away, a garden that had once been bursting with life was dusted with a layer of frost. Stone steps snaked between the plants, seemingly immune to the white ice that had coated the plants. White- and yellow-petaled jasmine vines gripped the edges of the cold walls to the left and right of him. They were delicate to touch. A sweet, rich, and heady aroma filled the cool air. The stars hung in the sky like an infant's glittering mobile. A soft chirping filled his ears as he began to walk.
And then he saw her. The one he loved.
She turned towards him, a smile spreading across her face. That smile . . . that perfect, magic smile. It made all her flaws go away, and everything beautiful about her -- to him, that was everything about her -- shine that much more brightly.
"Ruscion," she said, and extended her hand out to him.
He looked towards her hand and chuckled. He looked directly at her and shook his head. She let her hand fall, her face never losing the smile but her green eyes darkening with hurt. She bit her lip and tucked her dark brown hair behind her ears. "Are you all right?" she asked, and the concern in her voice made his heart swell with affection and wonder.
This girl, who Fate had left unmarried just so that they could find each other, cared about him. Ruscion, a tall muscular elf, who couldn't always control his emotions. Ruscion, a general but otherwise nothing special. That was the one she loved.
Him and no one else.
He stepped forward and pulled her into his arms, taking care not to crush her against his chest. She stood up on her toes to kiss his ear. "Ruscion." How he adored the way she whispered his name . . . like it was a lullaby.
They sat together on the bench for a long time, just happy to be together. He took that moment in, savoring it. He could remember cradling her petite body against his and smelling that smell that was unique to her and whose only close cousin was some combination of a flower garden and a fruit cocktail.
"Ruscion," she murmured, pulling away from him.
"Hmm?" He lifted one of her hands and kissed it.
"I . . . I'm going away for a while. There's something I need to investigate."
Ruscion immediately stopped and looked quizzically at her. She couldn't really be going, could she? It was the winter solstice. Investigations could wait.
"I'll be back soon, though! Promise!" she assured him, and kissed him softly on the lips.
*
Once again the awful truth tore him from the scene.
And the memory was ripped from his grasp. He was falling. Left behind. Forgotten. Alone.
His eyes became vacant as his soul wandered lost. A warrior without his sword is only one-half a warrior.
Incomplete. That's what love does to you. Makes you whole — then incomplete once more. But this time you could feel the incompleteness.
For many days upon months he, Ruscion, was rendered speechless. A broken heart was worse than any other ailment. It was the silent killer. The sniper without the bang. It was the death of a part of you. Part of you that may never return.
Translations:
Atra esterni ono thelduin = May good fortune rule over you
Mor'ranr lifa unin hjarta onr = Peace live in your heart
Un du evarinya ono varda = And the stars watch over you
pömnuria fricai = my friend
ebrithil = master
Hope you enjoyed it. And if you have a spare minute, please review! :)