"Eragon…" It was Arya's voice, of course. Little else had dominated his mind the past few hours as he'd drummed his feet against the forest underbrush and road dust alike, pounding the sore skin on the soles of his feet into a torn, blistered imitation of human hide. Or was it elven…? It mattered little, but such things always tended to fester within his mind when they came to light. It had bothered him ever since he'd been changed at the Blood Oath Celebration.
What am I? Eragon thought absently, the majority of his mind focused on the waking dreams that had replaced the blissful silence of sleep. It was a strange thing, the fact that he was no longer able to think of himself as human. But neither was he elf; he was something in between, and no one-except perhaps whatever gods there might be above-could explain the conundrum to him.
"Eragon…" Arya called again, the features of her striking face coming to the fore of his mind's eye and causing him to forget that which he contemplated. She was truly beautiful, hypnotically so. Scarcely could he concentrate on anything else when she was close.
But she'll not have me, Eragon bitterly reminded himself. Frustration and heartache soured the good mood that had grown at seeing her, simmering within him until he wanted nothing more than to strike something.
Arya smiled at him, her full lips lush and looking invitingly delicious as they curved with the gesture. Eragon's foul mood was suddenly gone, shattered with the simple movement and replaced with a giddy happiness that threatened to overwhelm all reason. It was, for the most part, successful; Eragon found himself devoting his entire consciousness to the waking dream.
Emerald eyes twinkling, the dream Arya leaned down over him, her soft form pressing against his chest, surrounding his head with a veil of lustrous black tresses. Beating so fast it was nearly painful, Eragon's heart gave a short jump as her delicate lips met his.
Unfortunately, the embrace was short lived, for Arya did not seem to be interested in kissing him. Instead, she leaned down around his cheek, tickling Eragon's nose with a strand of her hair as she put her mouth to his ear.
Even in a dream, Eragon thought, misery consuming him. Even in a dream, she'll not have me.
The dream Arya did not seem to notice his depression, but whispered in his ear, "Beware, Eragon…"
Bewildered, Eragon turned his head to look at her, vividly aware that their faces were less than an inch apart. Her skin was glowing with a faint white light, the very edges nearly translucent, as if she were fading. "Why?" he asked her. "Beware of what?"
Arya slowly shook her head, the tips of her pointed ears brushing across Eragon's cheek, light as a feather. In an even quieter voice, she said, "Beware, Eragon… They are coming…"
A loud crash echoed around Eragon, not of his dream, but in the world around his resting body. It was no new occurrence, for even in his dreams, he was aware of his surroundings… At least since the Blood Oath Celebration.
Still, it was foolish to ignore such a clamor. Eragon knew it could very well be dangerous, and that Oromis would have had quite a lecture for him if he decided to remain in his dreams for the sake of this specter of Arya…
Taking one last look at this dream Arya, Eragon regretfully sat upright, shaking his mind free of the waking dreams.
A purplish-blue light flashed violently before him as he opened his eyes, the rumbling roar of thunder shaking the trees around him. Fascinated, Eragon remained where he was, listening intently to the sound for a long time, captivated by the power and authority in the natural growl of the clouds. It was like the roar of a lion, this roll of thunder, except stronger, more impressive. Only the voice of a dragon could match it in force.
Standing up, Eragon looked around for shelter; it would not do to be caught in the rain, and a poor death it would be for one such as him to be killed by a stroke of lightning. Chuckling at how ridiculous the event could be, Eragon slung his pack over his shoulders and set off, the armor within rattling against itself.
And then it began to rain. Fat, cold drops splashed against Eragon's head as he strolled through the forest, running down over the yet unfamiliar shape of his pointed ears and collecting at his neck, where the streams joined together to form rivers that quickly soaked his shirt. Belatedly, Eragon wished he had decided to spend the night at the broken elven outpost he'd come across that afternoon. iEdur Ithindra,/i the mad magician Tenga had called it. Despite the old dabbler's eccentricity, it would have been worth the loss of time to escape this rain…
The silhouettes of the trees around him were lit with lucid clarity as another bolt struck the earth no more than a mile away, the thunder shaking the forest not long thereafter. Although he was already near soaked, Eragon could not help but marvel at the beauty of this common thing called a thunderstorm. It was violent and primal, the energy it gave off, and it had a wild, untamed magnificence, predatory in nature. In this fashion, it was like the sea… And, Eragon realized a moment later, Saphira… If I'm being honest with myself, Arya too… That's probably why I love her. That's why I'm in awe of such things.
Enjoying the savage energy of the storm, Eragon inhaled deeply through his nose, reveling in his heightened sense of smell as myriad scents rushed up his nostrils. The air had a moist, tangy aroma, as it always did during a storm. Smiling, Eragon decided it was his second favorite scent in the world, after the crushed pine needle scent that hung like a mist around Arya's skin.
Arya, Eragon thought. All my thoughts come back to Arya. Will I ever be free of her? Will I ever be able to forget her? The old pain returned then, the heartbreak and loneliness. He suddenly wished Saphira was there, just so he'd have someone to talk to.
Thunder rolled once more through the forest, but just before its strike, Eragon heard a distant sound, a clicking noise that made his skin crawl and sent a shudder down his spine. Foul memories and images suddenly came to mind, for he knew where he'd heard the sound before.
Ra'zac, he thought, tensing. Every sense searching for further signs, he cast his mind out in every direction, only to remember that Ra'zac could not be sensed in that way. Disbelief filled him as he scanned his surroundings. The Ra'zac were dead, he'd seen them die, participated in their killing. How could they still be alive? And more worrisome, how were they here, how had they found him?
Nothing presented itself to his search, no sound nor glimpse… But that meant little, storming at night as it was. He could have easily missed something.
Heart pounding ferociously, Eragon continued to search the landscape around him, hands itching for weaponry that he knew he didn't have. Futilely, his hand inched along his belt, the Belt of Beloth the Wise, hunting for the hilt of a sword. Only a dagger met his fumbling fingers. Without pausing, he tore it free, the steel of the blade flashing brilliantly as a bolt of lightning struck a nearby tree.
Frozen in place, Eragon searched his surroundings with both his heightened senses and his mind for any indication that the Ra'zac might be close. If the Ra'zac were still alive, that is.
The storm raged around him as he waited, but no signal was forthcoming. After a time, Eragon returned his weapon to its sheath with a sigh and continued on his way, chuckling at himself.
I must be imagining things… Or maybe I'm just getting paranoid. Perfectly acceptable, considering all that has happened to me, but still... I should be able to discern what's real and what isn't.
Mind wandering, Eragon remembered that time in the camp-before the assault on Helgrind-when he and Roran had leapt to their feet at the sound of a sword, only to discover that it had been a fallen rock. He chuckled in spite of himself, both amused and irritated by his frayed nerves.
Lightning flashed again, illuminating the outline of a single, humped figure some twenty feet ahead, standing between two tall trees, as if a guardian of a monarch gate. Purple light flashed across the blade in his hand.
Ra'zac! Eragon screamed in his head, recognizing the shape of the figure. Impossible! I killed you, I killed you… Nevertheless, the Ra'zac was there.
And now it was leaping toward him, crashing loudly through the underbrush as its fetid odor wafted ahead of it. Sinking into a crouch, Eragon pulled the dagger free once more, preparing himself to fight and kill the Ra'zac.
"This time," Eragon said calmly, leaning forward, "Stay dead." Confident in his abilities to defeat a single Ra'zac, Eragon rushed forward to meet its advance, only too eager to put the foul creature back in its grave.
Lights flashed behind his eyes as something struck the back of his head, sending him careening to the ground, dagger freeing itself of his grip. Tumbling and rolling through the thorns and rough branches, Eragon blinked rapidly, working hard to keep himself conscious. Coming to a stop slumped against a tree, he shook his head and looked up.
The twisted figures of the two Ra'zac stood over him, their black cloaks writhing about in the screeching wind. Thunder howled as another bolt of lightning illuminated their frames.
Rolling backward out of their reach, Eragon leapt to his feet, settling into a combative stance, mind reeling from the occasion. The Ra'zac were still alive! How was that possible?
"I killed you," Eragon said to them, hearing the confusion in his own voice.
"No," said one in a hissing, unwholesome voice. "You killed our brothersss and sssistersss."
"Now you can join them!" Eragon cried, lunging forward to attack. It was a foolish move, he knew, as they were armed and he was not, but it was the best he could hope to do in that moment. Tired as he was, he did not think he could outrun creatures as fast as the Ra'zac.
Still, in his mind, he was accepting this new revelation. The Ra'zac were not extinct, as he'd thought and made sure of with his own hands. The Lethrblaka must have laid more eggs, he reasoned.
Coherent thought was lost as the Ra'zac slashed a wickedly curving sword at his head, the image fixed in Eragon's eyes with a sudden burst of lightning. Blinking to clear the etching in his eyes, he ducked under the blade and directed a punch as hard as he could at the Ra'zac's chest, meaning to crack open its twisted carapace.
The blow never landed. Somehow, the Ra'zac had already sidestepped past him, its knobby fist lashing out. Pain exploded on the side of his face as he hard, contorted shell of the creature's arm connected with his cheek, filling his mouth with the salty taste of his own blood.
Crashing to the ground, Eragon recovered quickly and spun about, his leg like a scythe as it took the Ra'zac's feet out from under him. Cursing strangely in its hissing tongue, the creature fell to the ground and rolled away.
The second Ra'zac! Eragon exclaimed silently. He'd forgotten the creature's brother when the Ra'zac had struck him.
Reaching for the magic, he began to use the spell that had blinded the Lethrblaka, knowing no other enchantment was likely to work. "Garjzla le-" he began.
It was too late. A line of fire drew itself across his back as a sword lashed across his shoulder, forcing him to the ground with the sheer weight of the agony. Falling face first to the ground, Eragon screamed, the throaty yell mixing discordantly with the roll of thunder. Blood mingled with the water pouring down his limbs, hot and sticky on the small of his back.
Gritting his teeth against the pain, Eragon rolled onto his back and tried to jump to his feet and continue fighting. It was to no avail; the muscles in his back refused to obey his will.
A prickling sensation settled against the base of his throat as one of the Ra'zac pressed the bloody tip of his blade there. "Heal yourssself," it hissed.
Wondering at the sheer fortune of it, Eragon opened his mouth to voice the spell that would blind the creature. Before he could, the steel pressed harder against his skin, silencing him as it drew forth a bead of blood.
"Do not try to trick usss," said the second Ra'zac, coming to stand over him, branches snagged in its cloak. "We know the wordsss that heal you."
Pain battered his consciousness, making Eragon only too glad to comply to the Ra'zac's demands. Reaching for the magic once more, he said. "Waise heill!"
The agony abated as the skin closed over his back. Eragon released a gasp of relief, suddenly aware of the cold sweat mingling with the blood and rainwater soaking his skin.
He glared helplessly at the creatures looming over him, wondering if he could slay one of them before they could stop him.
"Galbatorixsss will be pleased," one said.
Then, it lunged forward and smashed the hilt of its weapon against Eragon's skull. The entire world turned black, blacker even than the night it already was.
As he drifted into unconsciousness, Eragon heard a roll of thunder wash over him, shaking water off the leaves of the forest.