Hey guys! I am SO sorry! As I mentioned in my other story, I had exams, and they just finished, Thank God. There is a reason no-one does exams after Uni. They can be so annoying. Oh, and throw a healthy dose of writer's block in there for good measure. Now, a quick warning: I am changing my chapter structure radically, since I was having trouble keeping up that length.
Disclaimer: I don't own Inheritance Cycle, blah, blah, blah, C.S. Lewis. I wish these things didn't need to be written in every chapter.
Chapter 7
The sky was beautiful; sapphire-blue, calm air with thermals, the sun beating warmly from the sky, and yet the black shadow in the sapphire sea couldn't concentrate. He was tense; anxieties gnawed his mind. Sapphire melted away. Blackness pervaded the air. Flashes of colour in the gloom. A silver-haired elf, a black blade, the point embedded in a black-clad glittering figure. Dissipation, reformation. A frail old man, anchored to the emerald grass below by silver, wordless lips breathing silent last. Colour to gas, and back again. Intangible light, details none, yet holding a man's shape, walking across the empty sea, silent, a bundle of gold in his arms. And finally, roiling water, sweet and deep, spray flying as a blur shot from its crystal expanse, and no more.
/
Safe. Calm. Sun. Crimson silk. Bed. All were things he felt upon waking, yet he still felt uneasy. The dreams troubled him. Such visions he rarely received anymore, and often they came true. Slowly and stiffly, Eragon balanced himself upon the ground, and walked outside. Momentarily squinting in the bright sunlight, he surveyed his surroundings. Sunlight, streaming flags, all emblazoned with his brother's likeness.
'Good morning, Eragon.'
Oh, how comforting that voice was to him. He felt disconnected from the world, sadness a barrier from reality, grief a rotten veil. Anger smouldered deep inside, and clawed his mind with searing hooks. He could feel the temptation to cut loose, to leave once more, to simply let go forever, but he knew better than that. He had done that once before, and what had happened? Winter and oppression and betrayal.
'Blessings to you, brother. Where are you?'
'Upon the ridge. You were still asleep when I awoke, so I let you lie. Are you better now?'
Another burden for him to carry. Concern.
'I feel… better.' A pause. 'I do not think these wounds will heal, though. They have run too deep, too wide, too long. They are infected with grief, anger, and regret. I guess Brom's advice was right. The first way to soothe regrets are to confront them.'
'Sage advice, indeed.' Aslan replied. 'Words for you, though, Brother. No-one blames you for what you did. Not Peter, not Susan, not Edmund, not Lucy, not I. No Narnian holds you responsible. It was circumstance that plotted against you. You should not blame yourself, when no-one else does.'
'Sage advice indeed.' They both chuckled. The laughter soon died, as neither could keep their humour. An air of darkness hung upon both. They both saw it, but neither mentioned it. They both could guess what it meant. Somehow, Eragon knew, this was something of a last exchange. But that abyss would not hold for very long. Eragon sighed deeply, and gazed up at the faint columns upon the hillside. His mind knew one would die there, and the brothers would not question the choice. Eragon knew the inscription. He could not fulfil it. Gazing up at the blue sky, he smiled faintly, bittersweet. If an end came, he would enjoy all he had left before it came. He leapt, and his slim frame blurred and swelled, until Foríngandí's imposing bulk shadowed the sapphire expanse.
'We both know what he says is true, little brother.' The dragon of the pair replied. 'It was not your fault.' But the argument was weak, at best. And besides, Eragon was absorbed with another matter. From the fractured images in his dream, a full, fluid vision was piecing itself together, slowly but surely. The sights contained would have horrified any other, but to Eragon, all he saw was an end that fitted the life he had led. He blamed himself for his acts; how could he not? No-one else had influenced him. It had all been his own choice. But as last image came into view, it scattered hiding all that lay after it.
'Once again you prove yourself right, Saphira. Fear not the future, for it does not exist and never shall. I see my future, and how could I fear it? It is all that comes from my actions. It is a result, nothing more, nothing less.'
The pain! Make it stop!
Sorry about that, everyone. But the dramatic irony is kicking in, and boy, howdy, this is going to get grim later. Now, don't worry, the next chapter will be longer, but still not as long as the previous ones.
Oh, and before I go, I have basically given away the entire plot in this chapter. Imaginary prizes to those who can guess how this is going to play out!
See you next chapter!
