You people BLOW MY FREAKING MIND AWAY! 7-SEVEN-VII of you asked for a quick update, or something along those lines, and IT MAKES ME SO HAPPY! To hear that I make you smile 'on crappy evenings' just... I don't know. My family wants me to stop writing and you people are my encouragement, and I love you. Really.
Astenbuad- This chapter, you learn where Eragon is. I'm holding Fat and Chunky's motives and superior for the end...
This is a shorter chapter, but I'll post again as soon as I can. Writing the Eragon scenes are harder for me than the Murtagh ones.
Chapter 10: Escape...
Time lacked meaning in that filthy prison, minutes passing into hours into days into weeks, crawling, yet speeding by, unnoticed by Eragon.
He was alone.
He was alone.
He was alone...
Or was he?
He could hear the moans of dying after another of Fat and Chunky's visits, but he could not help them; not the grizzled old man to his left; nor the little girl laying two tables to his right.
She couldn't have been ten; he wasn't sure. She whimpered and whispered to herself, some days walking in circles around her table, other times, curling up and sleeping there. Her left wrist, chained to the table, become red and sore as she struggled against the cold metal. But her wound, her punishment for whatever crime had landed her there, was starvation. Eragon had never seen her eat; but then again, he had never seen her face.
He thought- he could not be sure.
He didn't know anything anymore, facts becoming more and more blurred as 'time' passed. Clarity came during Fat and Chunky's painful visits, but slipped away as the light faded and the heavy door clanged shut. He thought they drugged him- he noticed an oily edge to the water- but didn't remember what that drug did.
He forgot until the day they forgot to give it to him.
Another torture session passed- Eragon writhing and struggling to not scream. Each time, Fat and Chunky grew more and more frustrated that they could not break through his mental barricade. Chunky decided to leave, Eragon thought, and as he huffed away, Fat sputtered something about fire.
Fire.
Eragon remembered what fire was- the consuming heat and loving light within dancing reds, oranges, and blues.
Blue.
Blue.
Fire.
Blue fire.
An itch grew in Eragon's mind, scratching him as he tried to make a connection. The bridge between those thoughts, broken, seemed impossible to cross, until one noteworthy memory appeared before his eyes.
Brisingr.
He remembered his blue, burning sword; his blue, fire-breathing dragon-
He recalled who he was-
"Brisingr!" Eragon shouted, mustering all of his energy to fuel the magic.
For once, the tables switched as Fat and Chunky caught on fire, the blue flames eating away their ornate robes and Chunky's hair. Screaming, they doused the fire and turned four evil eyes on Eragon. But the Blue Rider had slipped off the table, both from exhaustion and a burst of adrenaline, hiding behind the marble as he scrambled to remember another spell.
"Jierda. Say jierda." Came an adult voice, somewhere to his left.
"Jierda!" Eragon cried, lifting his torturers into the dark air. He could not sustain them for long, and they barely caught themselves from spattering on the cold floor.
"You didn't give him the drug!" Fat cried, releasing his anger on Chunky, sending him tumbling through the air.
"You didn't give him the drug!" Chunky shrieked, infuriated and offended. He sent a brown explosion towards Fat, whose legs got caught in the blast.
The other prisoners were moaning again, begging from broken lips and souls for mercy, for freedom.
"Take my energy, Shurt'ugal."
"Help me, Argetlam!"
"The door's that way." Said an adult voice, not two steps to his left.
Eragon jumped at the words, not noticing the other prisoner's soft approach. The person was tiny, possibly because they were crouched in the shadow, but confident.
"That way. I'll distract them, if you can break my chains."
Eragon did as the prisoner instructed, unlocking the chains and easing them onto the floor.
"Go forward, but don't trip on any bones or anything. The door is locked by magic. The password is 'Tor chirchu bin allesthe frinusthe.' You have no reason to doubt yourself, Eragon. You have the strength- your wounds are not horrible enough to stop you. Take some energy from the others. Think of Saphira; think of those you must avenge! The promises you must fulfill! You are strong enough, Argetlam. You must do this."
The small adult took a deep breath, then stood and skipped the opposite direction of the door. Wild from his returned memory and renewed energy- of blue sky, of his beautiful Saphira, of Arya- Arya smiling at him!- Eragon crawled from table to table, trying to get to the door unnoticed. But the other prisoners heard him scrape by, heard his hisses as the pain jolted up his body and down again.
"Please, Argetlam!"
"Will you leave us to die here, Silver Hand?"
Guilt came hard and fast- guilt, knowing that those people had as much a right to live as he did, knowing that they had no hope.
"You must go, Shurtugal. We should die- all of us here deserve death. Go- you are the Varden's hope! Go!" One whispered. "You must go... do not let us die in vain..."
"I promise." Eragon croaked, confused but fully knowing that he had to escape- he had to leave-
A violet explosion shook the floor, rattling the prisoner's chains and throwing the dark door open. The fighting magicians cursed, startled out of their argument, and set off to find the source, hissing and threatening each other as they went.
Eragon took the opportunity to both take some energy and launch his escape, laying a hand on the floor and taking what the marble had- it was a surprising amount. Running, he slipped out the door and into a black hallway. Left- something nudged him to take the left, and as he stumbled up the dark hallway, he heard another rumbling explosion.
The smell of decaying flesh and waste burned Eragon's nostrils like smoke, making his eyes water and triggering his stomach to rebel. Swallowing down the bile, he continued his upward climb, hoping to find Brisingr and Aren. And Saphira- especially Saphira.
A roar told him that the magicians had noticed his escape, he thought. It was hard to tell, since the roar mingled with the sounds of explosions and crumbling stone. Another blast rocked the floor, sending Eragon sprawling in the dark. His hand touched something slimy- something disgusting and smelling horrible.
"Garjzla." Eragon began, summoning light.
The itch began in his mind once more, trying to find a memory he could not remember. He had seen this dark place before- he had been there before, but he didn't know when or why or how or-
He did.
A stone dropped into his stomach as he realized what he was touching, what he smelling, where he was-
Helgrind.
There was no other option. The purple, sticky substance left no room for wonder. He had spilled that blood- he had cut that Ra'zac- and he had returned.
He knew where he was, at least.
But where was Saphira?
Her mind was not within reach; his head still felt empty, though not as lonely as before. His new found memory seemed like an old friend to comfort him; he hoped it would stay.
The light sent him higher and higher, running on winged feet up the dark, dank, musty corridor, weariness ignored due to the adrenaline which kept his speed and sustained the light. He charged past the rows of cells- there was Katrina's, with the door still beaten down- and continued up the tunnel he had run so seemingly long ago.
Another rattling explosion rocked the mountain, but Eragon managed to stay on his feet. Wobbling, he realized a dilemma that could not be avoided.
A fork in the tunnel.
Last time, he had used Katrina and Saphira's minds to guide him.
Now, he had no one.
He was lost in Helgrind.
So now you know where Eragon is... what about Saphira? Theories? Who is the little adult helping Eragon? Do Fat and Chunky have a superior? If so, who is he/she? Just a few questions to get you started... please review! :D