Hi guys! Not so long time no see, but this one I promise is a new chapter for the Hidden God! Now that's something you haven't seen in a while! It has taken me many, many hours—when I started tonight I had 2000 words, and now I have what I believe is the second longest chapter so far, but I've been completely engrossed in it! Why, you ask? Because EVERY CHAPTER SO FAR HAS LEAD UP TO THIS ONE! That's right, 40,000 words of writing have all been coming to these 6000 ones. Is this the end then, I hear you ask? Has the story finished?
"Idiot!" You hear me reply. "This is where the real thing begins!"
And with that in mind, read on!
"Arya, what happened?"
"Another vision..."
Arya sat bolt upright on her bed, panting as if she had just run several miles.
"What did you see?" Asked Firnen tentatively, sounding almost afraid.
"That creature that attacked us-the wraith- he's Galbatorix!"
Firnen said nothing for several long moments, apparently too stunned at this proclamation to offer any reply.
"Partner of my soul..." he began, sounding even more worried now, "perhaps-"
"Fa-that man, the one I've been having visions about; he called him Galbatorix. He was his master." She added, hating herself for admitting it with words.
"Arya, think about what you are-"
"I know what I heard! How many Galbatorixs do you think there are? Besides, his face...it looked like him!"
"Arya," said Firnen gently, "please, stop for a moment. You are saying that the creature we just fought was really the dead human Galbatorix, and-"
"I know how it sounds, but I'm right!" said Arya a little hysterically. There was no doubt in her mind- it was him. How it was possible she didn't know, but she was absolutely sure she was right.
"Arya," said Firnen after a while, "I know you are sure, but have you considered the possibility that this was-"
"A dream?" finished Arya, for she had expected him to put forwards this argument. "No, it wasn't! It was just like my other visions-everything was so clear, and I remember it all, down to the looks on their faces!" she said, thinking of the look of terrible fury that had adorned the master's face as she said it.
She could tell Firnen was unconvinced. "Well," she said, with a hint of aggressiveness, "When I'm dreaming normally, you'll see it, or at least be aware of it. Were you?"
"No." Said Firnen. "I was not. I'll assume for the moment that this was one of your 'visions.' What did you see?"
"I was standing by that throne, the same one as before. The wraith—Galbatorix—he wasn't supposed to kill us. Those Ra'zac were only supposed to observe us, and he was the one who told them to attack."
"Arya-"
"The master was really angry. I think he wants me alive, I'm important to him...to his plans, I mean." She said, feeling sick as she said it. "Galbatorix wanted me dead because he thought that I would somehow expose some people, an Order or something. He was supposed to kill them but failed, but he told his master he had, and...I know it doesn't make any sense, but I'm not mad, I saw it!"
"I don't think you're mad." Said Firnen gently. "I think you had a dream."
"Okay, here. I'll show you my memories, I can't seem to explain it properly anyway." She said, lowering her head back down onto her pillow.
"Well," he said after a while, "It seems you were correct. This certainly does not fit the criteria of one of your normal dreams..."
"And what would that criteria be?" asked Arya.
"Well, for one, it doesn't involve Era—er, never mind." He finished hastily. "It does look like your other visions. It looks like, er, whatever normally happens...happened."
Arya nodded, feeling both satisfied and slightly flustered. "What time is it?" asked Arya, rubbing her eyes.
Firnen stood up and strode towards the entrance of their cave, looking towards the gargantuan shaft that provided Tronjheim's light.
"Normally," he said, "I'd call it early morning, but with the limited light source and those infernal clouds it's impossible to tell."
"Let's go and see how Murtagh and Thorn are doing." Said Arya. She mounted Firnen and they flew down into the city of Tronjheim.
Though Arya had spent a lot of time in the magnificent city, she had only rarely been able to appreciate it like this, from above. It looked even more wondrous than before as they circled down towards it, finally coming level with the great structures that stood on the city mountain. She thought that she could perhaps even appreciate the dwarves' love of wealth when she saw it from this angle; precious gems that twinkled in the soft light of the flameless lanterns, set against a backdrop of shining gold and pristine marble. The sight was not Arya's idea of beauty, but she had to admit it was one she'd never forget.
They came to land in the middle of an unnecessarily wide road which led to the citadel itself. She had to ask for directions, but it took her quite a while to find a dwarf who knew the human language -or maybe most simply did not want to talk to her. It was a little disconcerting-she remembered the dwarves had been a little xenophobic when she was staying in Tronjheim during the war, but not like they were now.
"Ah, yes," said Firnen, at an admirable attempt at making his mental voice sound like Arya's memories of Gannel, "we must cease verbal communication with the one called Arya, for her presence somehow displeases Guntera..."
Arya smirked. "I'm not sure that's so far from the truth." Said Arya. "I wouldn't be surprised if Gannel has miraculously produced a signed order from above stating that no dwarf is to speak to me; we've never really seen eye-to eye, have we?"
"I should think not," said Firnen, "I'd be a little concerned if you had shrunk to a height which would make that feasible."
Angela, it turned out, was staying in a rather isolated area of the city-mountain located in one of the higher terraces. After navigating a maze of corridors and walkways at a jog with Firnen having returned to the dragonhold, she finally came to the chambers that were supposed to be Angela's. Panting slightly despite her impressive elven endurance, she knocked on the door.
After a few seconds it was opened a miniscule amount, leaving a crack through which Arya saw the distinctive golden hair and light blue eyes that meant she was looking at Angela, who then said "Oh, it's you." And opened the door to its full extent.
Arya walked in slowly, first noticing that the room had clearly been designed to accommodate members of races other than dwarves, for it was much more spacious than the average dwarven living room. The place was packed full of the exact kind of odd things that Arya had come to associate with Angela—cauldrons emitting vast quantities of different coloured-steam, baskets full of odd looking mushrooms and several items engraved with runes Arya was sure very few people would be able to read.
Murtagh lay on a bed in the corner with a muddy-looking compound covering the part of his chest the mace had hit.
"I had to tend to Thorn first," said Angela conversationally, "he was on the brink of death by the time I actually got around to healing him, no thanks to you chatterboxes."
Arya said nothing; mostly out of incredulity that Angela was calling her a chatterbox.
"I managed to get him stabilized, but in the meantime our rider here was left in the rather incapable hands of some dwarven healers, and I don't think they tried too hard to help him really." She said. Arya had mixed feelings about this; she wasn't sure if she'd be particularly inclined to go out of her way to help Murtagh, especially after she'd found out he wore a suit of dragonskin armour.
"Still, I think he'll be alright now." Said Angela.
"Where's Thorn?" asked Arya.
"Where did you think? He's exactly where he was the last time you saw him. Not even the dwarven mages have the strength between them to move him, but I'll be he has wards that would stop them if they tried anyway. Not that they will; they're all far too scared to go near him although they pretend it's disgust at him being the notorious Thorn. Anyway, he'll be alright, but he's got a fair bit of resting to do. I'll need to go and check on him soon though, to make sure. That kind of magic is quite unpredictable."
Arya stood there silent for a few moments contemplating what to say. She didn't think anyone would really believe the things that had happened to her lately, but, as always, Angela had surprised her. She seemed to know exactly what that wraith had been. 'That kind of magic.' What did that mean? Was it the same kind of magic Arya had been using?
"Angela," she blurted out, and the witch turned her head away from the small cauldron she was stirring with a wooden spoon, "what kind of magic is that, exactly?"
Angela smiled a little too knowingly. "Oh, a kind of magic much more ancient and powerful than any of the other forms. A kind that only a few are gifted with."
Arya nodded, taking a few moments to digest that before continuing. She had a shrewd suspicion that Angela wasn't going to give her any more useful information if she could help it, and so she had to glean every possible bit of truth out of what the witch did say.
"Do you...do you know what the...thing—what he was?" she asked. "They thing that attacked us, I mean?"
For the first time, Angela's expression turned truly serious, and Arya got the impression the witch was really giving her full attention to the conversation for the first time. "It was an abomination, Arya. Creatures like him were never meant to exist. They are beyond...normal evil." She said, her voice uncharacteristically serious.
"And what does that mean?" asked Arya, feeling frustrated.
"I meant exactly what I said!" said Angela.
"What you said didn't mean anything! All you've given me are pieces of answers that don't fit together! You know more than you've told anyone, you always do, so why is it you won't give me a straight answer?" yelled Arya, truly angry now.
"Maybe because I'm older and much wiser than you and I have very good reasons for withholding information, reasons that you couldn't even begin to understand!"
"Try me!"
"Arya," put in Firnen, "calm down! Control your anger!"
"Why should I?" asked Arya. "She has information that could help us and she is completely refusing to divulge it, just like she always has!"
"Perhaps she does have good reasons for doing so!"
"When have you ever thought like that?" asked Arya, furious. "Since when have you taken the side of someone who says they have 'good reasons' for not helping even though they could?"
"Since we became involved in something that's clearly much bigger than us!" replied Firnen. "We both know something's going on here, and until we understand it, I'm willing to remain ignorant of information that could hurt us!"
"I can't believe you're saying that!" said Arya. "I thought I knew you better!" fuming, she cut off the mental conversation.
Angela, she realised, had been patiently watching her the entire time. How long had she been having this mental argument with Firnen?
Unexpectedly, the witch sighed, sounding unusually resigned. "I suppose that dragon of yours was unable to talk some sense into you, then?" she asked. Arya didn't answer.
"Arya, I am sure you know by now you're involved in something more than a search for a dragon rider. Perhaps you are starting to form some suspicions on the matter. It isn't my place to confirm or deny them—don't look at me like that! If you want the truth then you'll be waiting a long time because there's no such thing. However, if you want parts of it, the library might be a good place to start."
"But-"
"I have a patient here, Arya, who requires my attention. I have a feeling he'll be able to tell you a few helpful things, which means you're really depending on him not dying at the moment. That being the case, I advise you allow me to tend to him without any further interruptions. Go to the library. Shoo!"
Still fuming but certain the witch wasn't going to give her anything else except for pain and frustration, Arya decided to do as she'd asked. Soon enough she had reached the colossal dwarven library which housed the collective knowledge of the dwarves which had been accumulated over all the centuries they had lived under a king in Farthen Dur.
On the upside, if there was one place in Alagesia where she could find the information she was looking for, it would be here. On the downside, if it was recorded there in some dusty tome, it would be nearly impossible to find, and distorted into something far removed from the actual truth by the dwarves' beliefs.
"But don't you remember what Murtagh said?" said Firnen. "When we were in Illirea?"
Arya thought back to what Murtagh has said that day-how he thought there was more truth to some of the dwarves' mythology than they had thought. At the time Arya had found this hard to believe, but now she had seen this wraith and had those dreams...she wasn't so sure any more.
"It's clear that Murtagh is vital to more than finding and saving Eragon." Said Firnen. "Until he wakes though, I suggest we do as Angela said."
At this, Arya entered the grand doors of the dwarven library.
The first impression the library gave was one of massive size. The room was gigantic-great hall filled with books and scrolls, all of them neatly ordered and categorized. There was so much there Arya thought it would have taken years to read all of it. Looking for information on the creature that had attacked them here would be like looking for a needle in a haystack.
"Perhaps this isn't such a good idea." Suggested Firnen. "Murtagh will wake soon enough, and Angela seems to think he'll be able to fill us in."
"I still don't trust him." Said Arya. "If there's any possibility we can find something relevant here I'll take it, if only so we can compare it to what he says."
For once, Firnen conceded, apparently in agreeance with her.
Scanning the library, Arya quickly realized that finding relevant material was going to be even harder than she and Firnen had originally thought. While the dwarven language was much easier for her to read than it was to speak, it had gone through a lot of changes since the first of the books in this library had been written and so they were almost completely unable to read much of the material they suspected might be helpful.
After over an hour of searching, Arya found one book that jumped out at her. The front cover was midnight blue, with a golden title that was written, of all things, in the script of the elves.
Intrigued, Arya picked the book up. The title read Life, Alagesia and Everything.
Opening it, she found that the entire book was indeed written in elven script, and, unlike many of the books she had looked at so far, it was very neatly written with clear spacing.
"That," said Firnen, "is a first for this library. Please, can we read this one for a while? This book was made for us."
Smiling despite her growing weariness, Arya took the book to the desk she had been using and opened it to the first page.
Dear esteemed reader,
By the time you read this, I will be in a lot of trouble. You see, in this book I will divulge some rather sensitive information that some very powerful people would rather you not have. Still, in my professional opinion, it is time that the people of Alagesia learn the truth about their world and the reasons why it's in such a bad way. However there is a theory which states that if ever anyone of your kind discovers exactly what the world is for and why it is here, it will instantly disappear and be replaced by something even more bizarre and inexplicable. On the other hand, there is another theory which states this has already happened.
"What the...what do you think this is supposed to be?" asked Arya.
"I don't know, probably the ramblings of some dwarven priest about his gods." Said Firnen.
"It's written in elvish." Countered Arya.
"Well, maybe this is a propaganda book which the dwarves plan on copying on mass to convert your kind to their religion. We're not going to know unless we read on."
Compelled by curiosity, Arya turned the page.
Chapter 1
If you're reading this, chances are you're an elf and you think this book is the propaganda of some dwarven priest who wants you to worship us.
At this, Arya could barely contain her laughter, which was intensified by Firnen's proclamation she'd 'made that bit up.'
If that's so, I encourage you to put this book down right away, because I'm going to be writing it based on the assumption you're going to believe what I say, and what I'm saying it going to include information about the beings the dwarves know as gods.
"Okay, this is insane." Said Arya. "We don't have any more time to waste with this book."
"No!" said Firnen. "I agree, whoever wrote this was mad, but it talks about the dwarven gods, doesn't it? This might give us something. Murtagh said something about the dwarven religion connecting to actual history, about the dwarven gods being the Grey Folk or something. This is the first time we've found a book about it we've been able to read!"
"It doesn't even seem to be written by a dwarf!" said Arya. "It says 'worship us,' which would mean that this book is written by somebody the dwarves worship and want others to worship. It's as if it was written by a god."
"Well, do you believe that?" asked Firnen.
"Of course not." Said Arya.
"Neither do I, but I am open to the possibility this has something to do with what Murtagh was talking about."
With a sigh, Arya read on. It was, without doubt, the strangest book she had ever read. It did indeed talk about the dwarven gods, but not in the way the dwarves did. The author stated that the 'gods' that the dwarves believed in were actually part of a race of beings that had existed before any others-the Grey Folk.
This intrigued Arya immensely. It was widely known amongst the elves that a race had once existed in Alagesia in the ages when magic had been bound only to thought. The Grey Folk had been the ones who had bound their language-the ancient language-to magic itself, and had shortly afterwards died out.
This book, however, stated that the dwarven gods were (speaking in present, not past tense) part of this race.
"This is exactly what Murtagh was saying." said Firnen. "Perhaps there is indeed some truth to this. If there used to be another race that inhabited Alagesia before us, and the dwarves had become aware of them..."
"They might be considered gods." Finished Arya. The idea was almost too strange to comprehend, but the book said precisely that.
The book spoke about an evil tyrant, Angvard, and how he had been overthrown by a band of rebels lead by his son Guntera. It then went on to say how Angvard later returned and secretly corrupted many, turning them to evil, and it was this part that caught Arya's attention the most.
"This sounds a lot like the dwarven myths." Said Arya sceptically.
"And also like what Murtagh was saying!" said Firnen.
They became the Giants-twisted by Angvard's evil power,they were abominations, their souls so impure and fragmented that they are beyond normal evil, and all that ominous stuff. As far as they were concerened they had become stronger, but in truth they had become shadows of what they used to be, and the mutilation of their very souls had spilled a large part of their original power. They're not very pleasent to look at. For starters they are, as the name implies, incredibly large. (Speaking, of course, in terms of their true form.) Besides that, they are wraiths made of shadow and fire and would frankly cause the bravest of your elven warriors to soil their nice shiny armour.
"Wraiths made of shadow and fire." Said Arya. "I don't believe it."
"This is it, it has to be!" said Firnen. "And if this was right..."
"The rest of the things this book says probably are too." Said Arya, barely able to believe it.
"What else is there then?" asked Firnen. "Read on, this might answer so many of the questions that are constantly bouncing around in your—er, I mean our heads!"
"When Angvard decided his forces were ready he revealed himself and began an all-out war on the kingdom his son had taken from him. Leading our side were those who had fought Angvard in the rebellion-known to the dwarves as Guntera, Morgothal, Urur and Sindiri (it's more than my life's worth to divulge the real names at this time,) as well as the other members of the Grey Order, (the rebels.) Leading our enemies were his ex-highness Angvard, the one known to the dwarves as Sindri (Guntera's mother,) and Angvard's second in command/the king of the giants..."
But Arya never found out the name (dwarven or otherwise,) of the King of the Giants, for at that moment a familiar mind rammed into hers, immediately breaking her concentration.
"Arya!" said the newcomer, his voice frantic, "listen to me, we don't have much time! You are in danger, you need to meet me up in the room as soon as you can! Please, Arya hurry!" and the mind pulled out as quickly as it had arrived.
For several moments, Arya sat there in complete shock. It made no sense-even less sense than what she had just been reading.
"Arya-" said Firnen uncertainly, but she was already on her feet and moving.
"Arya, it is not possible!" said Firnen, now sounding quite alarmed. "Do not-"
"I have to see Firnen, I have to!" said Arya. She couldn't believe it herself, but she had to go.
"Arya, this is not wise!" he said. "Remember your nightmares, or visions or whatever you call them!"
The mental words made Arya feel horribly sick. The thought that they really meant what she thought they meant was too horrible to even think about, but even so, she had to find out the truth.
"Arya, we should consult Angela first, perhaps she will know something important about this-about him!"
But Arya's mind was made up: she was already racing towards the room she knew he meant. Firnen continued to protest, sounding more and more panicked, and Arya knew he was flying right at that moment to intercept her, but she was running at full speed.
"Arya, please! Consider this before you go! It is not possible that it is him, you know this!" said Firnen, pleading with her now.
"I know why you don't want me to go!" said Arya, letting out a small sob. "But I have to find out!"
Firnen was about to argue, but he had no chance-she had already reached the place. Taking several deep breaths that might have lasted hours, she mustered up her courage and opened the door.
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The room wouldn't have held any special significance to most people-it was one of the hundreds of places that lay under the slopes of Tronjheim, abandoned since the days of the city's greatest glory when most of the dwarven kingdom had been situated in Farthen Dur. It was plain and unadorned, with several unremarkable (by dwarven standards) columns pretending that they were needed to keep the roof up.
She had come here with Faolin when they had first visited the city over 70 years ago—it had been the place their relationship had really started.
And there he stood now, looking profoundly not dead.
"Faolin." She said quietly, unable to take it in.
Said elf grinned, an expression that suited his face. "Arya. It's been a while."
Arya leaned against a column, barely able to breathe out of shock. Faolin's merry expression immediately turned to one of concern. "Arya? What's wrong?"
"it's just..." said Arya weakly. "I...I didn't think I'd ever see you again. You're supposed to be dead!"
Faolin smiled. "I must admit I didn't expect to see you again either, my darling. I know it may be hard to believe, but those Urgal arrows did not kill me. The full story is very long and boring and I haven't the time to give it to you, but the short version is my injuries severely damaged my memory. I wandered around for a while, not knowing who I was or remembering anything that happened before we were attacked. But it has all come back now, Arya, I remember everything. And most of all, I remember you."
He walked up to her, still smiling, and took both of her hands. The instant he did, she felt a massive spike of pain run up her right arm, as if the touch of his hands had electrocuted her. With a sharp gasp she withdrew her hands.
"What happened?" roared Firnen.
"I-I don't know, he..."
Faolin frowned. "Arya?" he asked, sounding tentative. Then his mouth fell open: he was looking at her right palm. "Arya, can it be true?"
She looked at her right palm wonderingly before she realized he was talking about her Gedwey insignia. "Yes." She said quietly. "I am a Shurg'tal."
"Greetings." Said Firnen right on cue. "My name is Firnen. It is an honour to meet you." Though Arya could tell the dragon didn't think so.
Faolin's expression turned into one of awe. "So it is true." He murmured. "The dragon riders have indeed returned, and the tyrant is defeated, just like they say. He then turned to Arya and replaced his grin. "Arya, this is wonderful! You always wanted to be a rider!"
Arya nodded uncertainly. Her initial feelings of total shock and disbelief were now mixed in with awkwardness. Here stood the man who had been haunting her visions as the lord of the wraiths, looking just as he always had—corporeal and about as far removed from the evil man she had dreamt of as she could imagine. Why was it then that she'd been having those horrible nightmares about him?
Then of course, there was Eragon, the man who she had come to rescue, the man whom she had been so desperate to contact, to see, to be close to. And now, Faolin, her old mate who she'd been certain was dead had simply appeared again, and was clearly fully expecting their relationship to continue right from where they had left off.
"Arya." He said with concern. "What is it that troubles you?"
"It's...it's just the shock...of seeing you here again." She replied.
He nodded with a smile. "Arya, worry not. Everything will be alright. It already is for me." He said softly. "Seeing you again is more wonderful than I ever could have imagined. But, alas, we must talk later my darling. As I told you before, you are in grave danger, and we must leave this place quickly."
"What...what is the danger?" asked Arya.
"Arya," he said gently, "What I am about to tell you may come as a bit of a shock."
"I think...I think I am as shocked as I'll ever get." Said Arya quietly. Faolin grinned.
"Arya, since we last saw each other, I have forgotten many things...and learned many things. Arya, there is something we never even dreamed of at work in the world. You know of the Grey Folk?" Arya nodded.
"We all believed they are nothing but far distant memory now, but we were wrong! Oh, if only I had time to explain everything! Arya, all I have time to tell you now is that the Grey Folk...they explain everything! They are the dwarven gods themselves, they are the creators, the spirits...It is all linked, it all makes sense now! And they are not merely memories—Arya, they are still alive!"
Arya's mouth fell agape. "Just like the book." Said Firnen incredulously.
"I have discovered that there is a society among them called the Grey Order. Beyond the limits of our reckoning of time they overthrew the rightful king of the Grey Folk and usurped his throne. They are the reason, Arya—Galbatorix, the war between our kind and the dragons...it is all due to their rule! And now, Arya, they are after you!"
Arya was stunned. All this was exactly what she had read in Life, Alagesia and Everything, but in reverse.
"Why are they after me?" asked Arya, thinking furiously.
"Arya, you must understand...you are special, Arya! Well, I always knew you were," he said with a laugh, "but more than even I knew! Arya, you are the one—the only one who can defeat them!"
If possible, this stunned Arya even more, but he was speaking in the ancient language. "How...how is that? I...I never knew about this until I read-I mean, you told me!" said Arya. Saying this was a gamble, but it worked—because she had never heard his side of the story before.
"Arya, I will explain everything later, but right now we have not the time! They are here, they are here in Tronjheim, and they are coming for you. My darling, we must leave, now!"
Arya stood rooted to the spot, still trying to take it all in. "I have friends here in Tronjheim." She said, to give herself time to think more than anything. "They may be in danger if what you say is true. There is Murtagh and his dragon thorn, and Angela the herbalist. We need to warn them."
Faolin's face assumed an expression of complete horror. "Who?" he asked, sounding truly frightened.
"Murtagh, Thorn and—"
"Angela?" he cut her off. "The witch?"
Arya nodded.
"Barzul Arya, she is one of them! She is with the Grey Order!" he said, his voice full of panic. "But if she's tricked you...we have less time than I thought! Arya, we must hurry!"
Arya's jaw dropped. Angela, a part of this Grey Order? Angela, an enemy?
"What do you think?" she asked Firnen. "She has withheld a lot of information..."
"I do not think Angela is our enemy." Said Firnen. "Just because she has not told us what we want to know does not mean she is out to kill us."
"But he's speaking in the ancient language!" said Arya.
"That proves that he believes what he is saying. Nothing more." Said Firnen.
"Arya, are you well?" asked Faolin, clearly noticing her conversation with Firnen and mistaking it for a health issue. "Arya, I am sorry, but I must insist that we leave now!"
"Wait." Said Firnen, speaking to him for the first time since he had introduced himself.
"Yes, great one?" replied Faolin with the same sound of respect and awe in his voice that most of his kind used when speaking to a dragon.
"I have seen many things, but never a man returned from the dead. Swear you are who you say you are."
"Very well." He said, frowning. "It is, I, Faolin of Ellesmera." He said out loud, and then began walking swiftly towards the door.
"Swear that you mean Arya no harm." Firnen persisted.
Faolin's expression was turning annoyed now. "With all respect, great one, we have not the time for this! I shall confirm everything you wish me to confirm later, but we must move!"
"Come, Arya, hurry!" he said, addressing her verbally now.
But Arya didn't move. She had never known where Angela stood; everything about her had always seemed uncertain, but the more she thought about it the more she agreed with Firnen—she was not an enemy.
Then she thought of her nightmares, of how though she had been desperate not to believe it, she had been certain that the leader of the wraiths had Faolin's face. And then she thought back to the book—about the last words she'd read. As she did, she realized she had read the name of the King of the Giants—but it had been quite literally jolted out of her mind at the instant she'd read it, the instant in which Faolin had contacted her.
"No." She said, almost whispering.
Faolin's face fell. "What?"
"I don't want to go. I won't."
Faolin looked totally incredulous. "What do you mean, you don't want to?"
"I won't go with you." She said, her voice a little stronger now. And as soon as she said it the uncertainty in her drained away. "I trust Angela. She is not my enemy, Faolin. I know who my real enemy is. I have seen him in my dreams."
In the instant she said it Arya saw it—a flash of fire in Faolin's eyes-so brief she would have missed it if she'd have blinked. He strode up to her, looking extremely worried.
"Look, we can discuss who your real enemy is later, but you have to trust me here, Arya! We need to leave, now!" Arya didn't move.
"What is it, Arya? Do you think I'm you're great enemy or something?" he asked, with what was clearly an attempt at humor. "Come on Arya, snap out of it!" he said, Grabbing her arms. "Come on!" he tried to pull her along with him.
Several things happened in the second that followed. There was a flash of brightest blue, and Faolin was thrown from her, landing hard and rolling. As he did though, he began to change. A shockwave of light travelled across his body from his chest, and his very skin burst into sapphire flames. Arya screamed, transfixed with horror as the skin was burned away and beneath it a swirling form of black vapour was uncovered.
He began to grow until he was as slightly taller than the wraith Galbatorix had been, and as the blue fire died it left behind the wraith of her visions, complete with a mantle of fire crowning his head and a look of pure rage on his face as he stood, making the very floor shake as he did so.
"How dare you?" he roared, and Arya gasped. While Galbatorix's voice had been filled with terrible power, this was a hundred times worse: it echoed around the room as if they were standing in some great cavern, and was filled with such power and malice that most would have fallen to their knees at the mere sound of it. If Galbatorix's had made her blood run cold, this turned her blood to ice.
"You filthy half-breed!" he yelled. "You will never, ever do that again!"
Arya's knees turned weak. The nightmare was real. Meanwhile, Firnen was desparately trying to reach her, but he could not possibly fit through the corridors that lead there, try as he might.
"Actually, she didn't." Said a bright, matter-of-fact sounding voice behind her. Arya whirled around and almost fell over from sheer shock. Standing in front of her was the most unlikely trio she could possibly imagine: Angela, Oromis, and her father, Evandar.
For a long moment, everyone in the room was completely silent. The three figures did not look the same as Arya remembered them: each one seemed to be made of liquid light, exuding an obvious power and nobility that Arya had never seen before.
"It was a ward." Said Angela, breaking the silence, sounding as bright as ever. "She didn't cast it." Everyone was too stunned by Angela's ability to point out such a technicality at a moment like that to say or do anything for a few seconds. Then, Evandar, for it was him, strode purposely up to Faolin, who was still apparently too shocked to speak.
Coming around a few inches in front of the much taller figure, Evandar stopped.
"Get away from my daughter." He said, and punched the king of the giants in the face.
Hope it was worth the wait and the depressed rant! So it begins!