Bad News: My computer crashed and I lost all of my documents and pictures and all that jazz, including my nearly finished copy of this chapter, which I then had to rewrite =(
Good News: School is finally over so now I have three months of writing fun ahead of me!!
Random News: I just came into possession of an old-fashion quill and a bottle of ink! For those of you who don't know me, this makes me very excited. For those of you who DO know me… be warned! My excitement level has now reached 11 out of 15!
Important News- I thought I had mentioned this at the beginning of the first chapter, but apparently in my excitement to publish my first story on fanfiction I forgot to mention it. Kiss of Life is my own version of Terry Goodkind's ideas for The Sword of Truth (aka Legend of the Seeker on TV). I thought it would make an interesting Eragon fanfiction, so I'm trying it on for size along with a few tweaks and twists of my own. Thanks to EmeraldArya for point out my mistake!
It wasn't the feeling of his arms being torn roughly from their sockets that first awoke him, nor was it the aching soreness that filled his body from head to toe. No, it was the feeling of absolute and complete hollowness that clogged his mind, as if a part of him was missing or injured beyond repair, and for once he was painfully, agonizingly alone.
But it was the unbearable pain in his shoulders that finally triggered his lethargic brain into action. With a jerk, Eragon pulled his heavy eyelids open and immediately closed them again, wincing at the sudden light that attacked his cornea.
What the-? Oh, what happened now?
He winced again as his muscles screamed in protest at the slight movement of lifting his head and slowing attempted to open his eyes again. As far as he could tell, he was in a small circular room with a high ceiling, the walls and floors all made of the same red stone that failed to hide the sprinkles of blood from his overly-observant eyes.
Blood…Not a good sign.
His shoulders wailed as the Rider pulled his head up to examine his suspended arms. No wonder his shoulders felt as though they were being pulled off. He looked down at his body. His chest was bare and bruised, but for some reason his scabbard and sword were still attached at his hip, Brisingr's hilt just barely visible at his side. The pain in his shoulders was clearly due to the fact that his toes were a good foot and a half off the ground and his wrists were securely cuffed in strong, heavy looking shackles attached to strong, heavy looking chains connected to a strong, heavy looking metal beam in the ceiling. In a vein attempt, Eragon tested the strength of the chains, pulling at them with the little remaining strength in his body. He hadn't expected much of a change; the only result being more pain in his shoulders and chest.
A violent fit of coughs suddenly overtook him. This did nothing to ease the pain in his chest; quite the opposite, actually. His throat felt raw and hoarse after the convulsions subsided and he wondered vaguely how long it had been since he had last had a drink of water.
Saphira? Saphira, where are you? He said between miniature coughs. There was no response. Now he understood why he felt so empty, so vulnerable. Whoever had strung him up in the center of this room must be doing something to block their connection. Unless…
No. Eragon told himself sternly, shaking his head to rid himself of the thought. He wasn't even going to think about that option. If she were, he would know. He would feel it more deeply then any sword of arrow could ever reach.
Somewhere behind him a door opened, its hinges creaking and its frame scraping across the stone floor. He tried to tilt his head so he could see who had arrived, but he couldn't see around his suspended arms. Suddenly, something long and sharp pressed against his back, just between the shoulder blades. Automatically Eragon arched his spine away from the contact, but of course could not get very far. Whatever it was was now making its way across his back, over his side, and onto his chest, stopping just above his heart. Now he could see the long, sharp object was a vibrantly red colored fingernail, filed to an unnecessary point.
Following the finger up a leather clad arm, Eragon raised his eyes to the woman's face; slim, high cheek-boned, and gloating. He recognized that overly-confident smile from the clearing where he had been teaching Roran how to fence. His eyes narrowed as he remembered the agonizing pain she had put him through with just a touch of her finger and no words to form a spell. That was magic beyond him, and admittedly magic he did not want to mess around with.
The woman smiled even wider and stepped back to pull the glove off her other hand. "You will call me Mistress Poena." She said silkily as she tossed her glove onto a table nearby. "And what is your name?"
"Where is my dragon?"
The words were barely out of Eragon's mouth when the back of her hand smashed into his cheek. His head snapped to the side and he tasted the coppery flavor of blood from where his chapped lip had split.
"I asked you, Shadeslayer, what your name is?" He voice was no longer glossy and smooth, but harsh and commanding.
Eragon furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Well, clearly you already know my name, so why bother asking for it?"
The smile jumped back onto her features, seductive and sinister at the same time. She moved closer to the Rider until she had to look up to see his face; He was nearly a whole head taller then her from where he hung. "I asked for it, Eragon, because I wished to show you a little kindness, a little courtesy, upon our first proper meeting. Trust me, you won't be getting much civility such as this for quite a long time after we begin."
"Begin what?" Eragon asked, attempting to keep the dread from his voice by adding as much hostility to it as possible.
"Your training." Poena breathed softly in his ear. Her breath was warm against his skin, yet an underlying layer of coldness could be felt as well, breaking through its comforting façade. She placed her hands on his shoulders and gently pushed him away from her, causing his to swing painfully at the end of the chains. She turned from him, playing oblivious to his sudden gasp of surprised hurt.
"His majesty, King Galbatorix," She continued. "Has asked me to turn you into the perfect little Rider so that you may one day be granted the honor of leading his troops in his endless search for serenity in his realm."
Eragon snorted at this, unable to keep the laughter at bay. "Good luck with that, for I will never serve under Galbatorix."
"Really?" Poena raised her eyebrows at him. "Is that so? Are you really so close-minded that you can't even consider the possibility that that old man has brainwashed you into believing Galbatorix to be the horrible villain of your epic tale? Have you ever stopped to reflect on the prospect that this may be your chance to help bring peace to Alagaesia? That is what you want, isn't it?"
Eragon said nothing but glared at her for a moment, unwilling to give an answer. Of course he wanted peace, that is the main reason he fights so firmly for the people of Surda and the Varden. However, joining Galbatorix's cause was the furthest thing from fighting to gain peace. If he said yes to her final question, would he be saying yes to everything before that as well?
"The days of Galbatorix's reign of terror are numbered." He finally growled.
Poena laughed, throwing back her head and cackling at the ceiling. "By who?" She managed to gasp out after her fit of laughter. "A farm boy strung up by his wrists in the Lioness' Lair?"
"Where is Saphira?" He demanded again through clenched teeth. Poena sighed and began to walk around Eragon until he could not see her anymore, an uncomfortable feeling.
"Saphira, your dragon, is probably still lying alone in some field, too weak to carry on. You should have seen it; I shot her right out of the sky. Bang!" She walked back around him so he could see her and pointed her thumb and forefinger at the opposite wall. A blue jet of light sprang from its tip and collided with the wall, leaving a dark burn mark on its red surface. Eragon's heart was beginning to beat at an unhealthy pace, fear and dread for his dragon blocking out any other thought in his mind.
Poena turned with a sickeningly amused smile on her face at his evident horror. "Don't worry, Rider, she will live. I used just enough firepower to keep her off our tail for a while. Which reminds me, you won't be needing this for a while either." She wrapped her hand around Brisingr's hilt and pulled it slowly from the sheath. After examining its dazzlingly blue features for a moment she said softly and endearingly, "She is beautiful, isn't she? The latest and greatest of Rhunon's creations, if you ask me."
"I wouldn't grow too fond of it if I were you." Eragon hissed, disgusted that she was even touching his sword. Again, the sorceress raised a perfectly arched eyebrow at him, but ignored him for the time being. Slowly, she walked across the room and placed the sword on another table stacked with weapons and other arms.
"On the contrary, I believe I'll be getting to know this sword very well during our training time together."
"I told you before," Eragon growled. "No one is going to be training me."
At this, Poena laughed. She slithered up close to him like a poisonous snake and once again ran her hand over his chest. "Did you not feel my magic touch back in that clearing?"
Eragon caught a glimpse of something blue bounce forth from her fingers before sudden agony filled him again. His blood turned to fire and he could not hold back the bloodcurdling scream that tore from his mouth. The chains overhead clanked loudly as the Rider tried to twist away from the witches touch. I'm dying. He managed to think through the pain. Nothing else could feel like this. Nothing else could hurt this badly.
And the finally, just after he thought he could take no more, Poena raised her finger from his skin. Eragon choked and gasped as he swung helplessly on the end of his chains, the pain slowly, but not completely, beginning to leave his body.
"You can't fight the pain, Eragon, and the hard you do the more powerful the magic will become. It feeds off your struggling until there is not a shred of defiance within you. And when you reach that point," She said as she came closer once again, their noses nearly touching. "You will do anything to please me. And nothing would please me more then to see you stand beside our noble King at the forefront of the battlefield and lead his valiant troops in putting down that pathetically misguided excuse of a rebellion. Nothing would bring me more pleasure then to watch you slay your leader, Nasuada, in your final act to fealty to our King, and betrayal to your friends."
Eragon finally opened his eyes again as nausea rose inside him. He fought down the bile that threatened to come with a final swallow and gasped, "No. You see that sword?" His eyes flitted over to where Brisingr sat atop the pile of confiscated weapons. "I'm going to take that sword, and I'm going to drive it through Galbatorix's black heart. And then, as your king lies dead at my feet, I'll turn the blade on you."
There was silence for a moment after his words, for Eragon could not go on. He could barely breath, let alone form coherent sentences. Poena raised herself on her toes and whispered seductively into his ear. "Oh, I do enjoy a challenge. Shall we begin?"
And again she pressed her finger into the muscle just below Eragon's rib cage, allowing the magic to flow from her twisted heart, down her arm, and into the body of her captive. And this time, despite her prisoner's yells and writhing, she held it there much longer than before.
TBC
I've already started on chapter 4, so it shouldn't be too long before my next update. I really am sorry this one took so long! Let me know if you all still want me to continue by leaving me a review on your way out! Till next time…
