…Yeah…I've been bad…really, really bad...I'm so sorry for taking so long to get this out. Life has been extremely hectic lately. Show season started, so I've been spending all my free time at the barn riding and whatever time I have left over after that studying for school. But I know no excuse is good enough! And, I must admit, I did waste a large amount of time watching Doctor Who (which is SO FREAKING GOOD!) But NEVER FEAR! Here is chapter eleven and chapter twelve is already in the works! This chapter focuses more on Roran, Arya, and Saphira then on Eragon and Poena, actually, so I apologize for that as well. God, I really need to stop saying I'm sorry!
Enjoy!!
An hour. A week. A month. Years. Decades. Millenniums. How long had he been waiting? Waiting longingly, just staring at the blank redness of the cell door. Had only three weeks passed since he first felt her touch? Had it only been twenty-one days ago that he first felt her lips on his? That cool, refreshing taste of life hidden within her deadly kiss?
That kiss. How many times had he received it now? How many times had he died at her hand only to be raised again from the dark embrace of death? Twice a day? Twice an hour? Time is mirage in this place; one moment it feels as if mere seconds have passed, yet in others it seems like a lifetime. Could his month be up soon? Could Galbatorix be in this very building, hidden away in the heart of the Hadarac, at this very moment, waiting to receive his newest Rider into the ranks of his army?
How long had it been since the cell door had been slammed shut? How long since she had left? Far too long ago. Where was she? Had she forgotten him? Had she given up on him?
STOP IT!
The questions ceased their perplexing dance within his head. It was as if an open door to a loud, chaotic party had suddenly been banged shut, cutting off the sound and leaving the cell eerily quiet. He could hear himself breathing again, each shallow breath as loud as a scream in the isolated silence. It consumed him. All he could hear was his steadily quickening intakes of air and the rising beat of his heart. Like the drums of a war or funeral march. He was still unsure which it was. It was growing louder. And louder. It pounded on his eardrums. He raised his hands to protect his pointed ears from the sound. The beat forced its way through. His body vibrated with it. Louder and louder and louder.
"STOP!"
Eragon forced himself to open his eyes and breathe deep enough to steady his racing heart. He forced himself to think, think of anything, for if he stopped thinking the questions would return. The war drums would return. He forced himself to relax and concentrate on reality. In other words, he forced his way back into sanity.
The line between insanity and reality had always been a solid one, one Eragon had never intended to cross. Yet now the line was fuzzed and faded, like a painting left too long in the rain. Eventually, the defining boundaries of that line began to smear and the two worlds mixed as one, Eragon stuck in the middle of Pandemonium, fighting to stay on the side of the light. But the darkness was ever so inviting. In the dark, he could escape it all, just hide away in the shadows where the blue sparks and scales couldn't reach him. Maybe his own mind was his jail, not this cell.
He jerked his head up from where it had been resting against his curled-up knees, listening intently at the world beyond the red stone walls. It's amazing how isolation can heighten ones senses. Even his elven ears had never before been this vigilant of every sound around him.
Someone was coming. The heels of their boots made a distinct thud sound each time they struck the ground, both graceful and forceful at the same time. Eragon pulled himself shakily onto his feet, ignoring the spots of darkness and dizziness as he ran a hand through his matted hair. Dried blood flaked away from the gash across his forehead. His empty stomach seared as he straightened, the utter agony of hunger scrapping relentlessly at his insides.
The footsteps came closer, just outside his cell door. There was a pause. Two voices exchanged words. One was low and gruff while the other was higher, fluid, and authoritative. Eragon pushed himself off the wall, forcing his unwilling legs to hold his weight as he heard keys jingle and slide into the lock. The door skimmed open, the light outside nearly blinding the Rider. Once his eyes could finally look into the glare of the firelight, Eragon saw her outline, defined by the red leather she wore that matched the stones of the wall behind her.
And Eragon smiled.
"Poena." He managed to whisper before his legs finally gave out on him. He pitched forward, falling onto his knees as black dots attacked his vision. He would have fallen, face-first, into the ground had she not been there to catch him. Her hands, gloved unlike they'd been over the past three weeks, held his shoulders and kept him upright. Eyes the color of the Anora River in the winter searched his face before her hands released him. He fell to his side, dizzy, the world becoming blurred and fuzzy in its sideways view.
The sorceress stood and glanced around the cell with all the intensity of a lightening storm. Her sight fell on the unfortunate guard by the door, standing steadfast at attention. "Has he been eating?" She demanded. "Have you been feeding him properly?"
"Of course, Mistress." The guard replied hastily.
"How much?"
The guard frowned, weighing the possibility that the truthful answer might just be the wrong answer to give. "The usual amount, Mistress. Once and day. Bread and cheese and occasionally a piece of fruit. And the water jug is always kept full on your command."
Poena took an intimidating step towards the guard, stripping the gloves from her hands. "Once a day? Simply bread and cheese?"
The guard hesitated. "Yes, Mistress, as you have ordered for every other prisoner."
Her hand slashed across his face faster then the lung of a snake. Three red gashes appeared alone his cheek from where her unnecessarily long nails broke his skin, blood instantly smearing across his jaw line. "You fool!" Poena growled as the man cowered away. "This boy is not like any other prisoner! He is in intensive training! Twice as hard and rigorous as any other trainee! Therefore it is logical that he should get twice as much, is it not? IS IT?!"
She lashed out again, this time grabbing his throat as the room cackled with blue lightening and the screams of the unfortunate guard. "Your lack of common sense is killing him and I cannot train a dead man!"
"Poena."
Somehow, the whispered word was heard over the yells of pain from the guard and of anger from the sorceress. Poena released her victim and turned to the teenage boy who had whispered her name, trying to push himself off the ground. His eyes were glazed and unfocused and they darted from side to side like a lost child looking for his way home. She went to him, grabbing his upper arm to help him sit up against the wall. His head rolled back as his vision wavered slightly, the blond woman before him sliding in and out of focus.
"Easy, Eragon, try not to move so fast." She demanded. She ran her hand over his forehead and Eragon instinctively tried to flinch away, but something was gentle about her touch as she examined the gash along his hairline. He followed her eyes, void of emotion yet still hard as ice.
"So much for your training today, I'm afraid. Unfortunately, you may very well die by starvation then by my hand, which we cannot afford." She said the words softly, almost as if she were saying them to herself. "There is not much I can do for this, but—" She leaned forward, a hand behind the Riders neck to support it as she pressed her lips against his. It was brief, for there was little the basvita could do for the battered son of Morzan, yet Poena felt it begin to heal the most unfathomable of her inflictions. The wisps of smoke from the back of her throat were tepid in the unfamiliar circumstances.
She pulled away and was glad to see Eragon's eyes were once again focused and his breath came to him easier. The gash along his forehead had not been healed, but then again, it had not been by her hand that he had received it.
Poena stood quickly. "On your feet, Rider." She demanded as she turned away. Eragon pushed himself up and was surprised to find he could stand without falling over. Poena was eyeing him over her shoulder as if he might collapse and she would have to catch him again. He gave her a quick smile in hopes of assuring her he would be fine. She didn't return it.
"Eragon will be dining with me tonight." She told the sentinel as he struggled to his feet, gasping for air. "There had better be a competent guard at this post when the Rider returns or may the gods pity he who falsely claims to be proficient." She reached out her hand to grasp and guide Eragon's shaking shoulders. "In other words, I would not want to be caught in my sight once I'm finished eating, if I were you."
The guard looked genuinely terrified as the witch swept away, one arm still slung around Eragon's shoulders.
Days had passed since the trio of dragon, elf, and human separated from the troubling and lethargic warriors in search for their Rider. Yet as the first hours turned into days and the sun sank and rose in its never ending cycle, the groups already reduced moral began to fall at an alarming rate. They had already covered the southern base of the Hadarac, flying with the Beor Mountains just within eyesight to their right, Saphira's unbridled speed sweeping them forward until the sands gave way to sparse brush and small trees within a matter of hours. But there was no sign of any life below. No indication of Eragon's whereabouts.
They began to turn around; starting a few more leagues north so as to scan over the middle of the desert, but their pace was decreasing rapidly now. Saphira absolutely refused to stop and rest, landing on the ground for mere minutes at a time to allow her companions to stretch their legs before taking off back into the relentless heat of the desert. But her assurances that she was fine did not fool her riders. Arya and Roran could see her fatigue in the droop of her tail and the lengthened intervals of her wing strokes. Despite her mighty masquerade, the dragon was exhausted.
"Saphira, I can't stay silent about this any longer." Arya yelled over the suffocating wind. "Land and rest before you crash! You cannot help Eragon enervated, and an hour respite will not affect our search too much."
I can—go on.—I have enough—strength—to keep going.
"Listed to yourself!" Roran called from the back of the saddle. "You can hardly speak! Please, Saphira, we can find him faster if you are rested. Just land for a minute!"
They could both feel the great dragon's anger grow, her frustration at her own weakness battling her obvious desire to relax her straining wings. But finally Saphira resigned to their wishes and angled downwards towards the yellow dunes. Her landing was less graceful then usual as she stumbled onto her front knees from the impact. Roran and Arya quickly dismounted, stripping off the saddle and their baggage to make the dragon more comfortable. Saphira snarled to herself the whole time, disgusted by her limitations.
I will rest my wings for only a minute, and then—Her thought was cut off by a monstrous yawn, showing her dangerously sharp teeth and forked tongue to the sky as she emitted a column of lazy yellow flame. The air became even hotter, if it were imaginable possible, from the pressure of her exhausted roar and the heat of the fire. Once it had passed, Saphira shook her azure head and spread her wings. Enough rest. She snapped. We move on.
Roran sighed as he moved his hands away from his face where they had been pointlessly lifted in hopes of protecting himself from the heat of her yawn. "Saphira, please, you cannot go on like this. For days you have been flying non-stop without water or food or rest. Even you need those simple things in life in order to continue, I am sure, so—"
He stopped as he felt a hand fall on his shoulder and turned to see Arya watching him with a look that plainly said there is no point. The elf turned back to the dragon, who was eyeing the two with anger and frustration ablaze behind the growing film of fatigue. Arya nodded once, regretfully, before muttering, "Slytha."
At the last moment, Saphira seemed to recognize the ancient word for sleep, for a faint hiss escaped her teeth before her entire body quaked with the force of the magic and her muscles became limp against her control. She had drifted into a profound and imperturbable sleep before she had even collapsed into the warm, shifting sands.
Roran gasped in surprise, taken aback by the sudden act of magic from the elf maiden. He gave a little nervous laugh. "I suppose that's one way to get a dragon to sleep."
Arya rounded on him, her eyes as sharp as her blade's edge and glowing with all the intensity of fire. "What I have done is inexcusable! To use magic on a dragon against her will and knowledge makes me little better then the monsters of the Forsworn." The steel in her eyes then melted away and she shook her head once, ebony hair falling across her face. "But I have done it for Saphira's own health. She would not have made it much further, especially if the Rysam detected our flight and try to engage us in a conflict." She seemed to be trying to convince herself of the benevolent reasons behind her action more so then Roran, so he remained quiet, unsure what to say. For a moment the only sounds came from Saphira's sleepy breaths and the blistering winds howling over the surface of the desert.
Finally, Arya looked up with her usual regal and emotionless expression. She glanced up at the sun, calculating from its height, position, and the shadow Roran cast that it must be near eleven in the morning. The hottest time of the day was yet to come. "We might as well make use of this hour to rest a bit before continuing." She said. She took up the water skin with its quickly diminishing contents and tossed it to her human companion, who fumbled pathetically before catching it with both hands.
Roran took a swig of the tepid water and allowed himself to fall backwards into a sand hill. The surface sand was hot from the glare of the sun and it momentarily burned his skin before he burrowed his arms deeper beneath its cover. Out of the corner of his eye, Roran could see Arya settle herself down a few feet away, fingers unconsciously tracing along the shape of her sword's hilt. Despite her sense of impassiveness and anonymity, the mere human farm boy turned miller turned warrior could see through her inert façade. He saw the worry lining the edges of her flaming, steel eyes. He noticed the hesitations and anxiety that accompanied her every movement. Not that I'd been watching her…He clarified, mainly for Eragon's sake. But nonetheless, her masquerade was not quite as well contrived as usual, and Roran could see through it as clearly as an eagle sees through the summer air. The regal, impassive, and undyingly eternal elf was scared.
The heat beat down on him without mercy. A sweat formed on his brow and no matter how many times he attempted to swipe it away with the brush of his sleeve, it never seemed to leave him. The air was sluggish and didn't seem to make it all the way to his lungs, and the bit that did scorched his windpipe and left it feeling burnt and raw. He squinted, trying to block out as much light from the growing sun as possible, and suddenly a towering shape came into existence, dancing along the horizon in the heat waves. The only break in the otherwise impregnable desert.
"What is that, along there?" Roran pointed at the darkened form as he glanced over at Arya. The elf looked up from her ponderings—about what, I wonder?—and followed the stretch of his arm out along the horizon.
"Those are the Du Fells Nangoroth, the mountains of the desert."
"There are mountains in the center of the Hadarac Desert?" He said in awe.
"Yes, Roran, those would be what you are looking at." Arya snapped before quickly closing her eyes and took a deep, steadying breath. The tips of her fingers massaged her temple as she exhaled slowly. "Forgive me." She said softly. "I am simply frustrated with our current situation."
"I don't think you are the only one." Roran muttered as he glanced over at the slumbering dragon. He swiped the back of his hand over his brow, which had become slick with salty sweat. He noticed the tips of the elf's raven bangs sticking to her forehead as well. Her usually pale features were now tinted a sun-bleached red.
"It feels as though the further into the desert we go, the hotter it becomes." He mused more to himself then the seemingly passive elf beside him. "You say these Rysam creatures thrive from the heat?"
"Yes, that is the theory my kind has developed. Their first inhabitance was in the belly of the volcano on Vroengard, known now as Doru Areaba. After its eruption, however, its own volcanic rock sealed it off, trapping the heat inside. If the Rysam survived the explosion, as it seems they have, then they would have abandoned Vroengard in search of a place that could satisfy their need for heat. That is why the Hadarac is our best bet. There is no more miserable of a place in all of Alegasia."
"Hmm…" Roran leaned back in the sand, his eyes still on the Du Fells Nangoroth. "Has anyone ever searched the mountains? For life of any kind, perhaps?"
"No." Arya dismissed the idea immediately. "The rocks are uninhabitable. The proximity of the sun would scorch the skin or hide of any creature that remains upon it for too long."
Suspicion arose within Roran as he looked over at Arya. "What if that creature could survive inside the pit of an active volcano?"
Arya's eyebrows furrowed as she thought through what her human companion was suggesting. "I suppose—I actually had never given the Du Fells Nangoroth much thought before. I've been so myopic, thinking solely of Eragon that I had forgotten to think of the Rysam."
"So is it possible he could be up there?" Roran felt his anxiety rise. He could feel the adrenaline beginning to pulse through his worn-out veins. So close…we could be so close!
Arya hesitated for a moment. "It is—possible—but not very probable, I'm afraid. If he were being held by the Rysam within the Du Fells Nangoroth, then the chances that Eragon has survived the heat for three weeks in extremely unlikely. And I'm not sure the odds of it warrant enough merit for us to risk flying there."
To Roran, it seemed that the elf had once again become lost in her thoughts as she weighed the pros and cons on the situation to herself. He attempted to snap her out of her thoughts by asking the single questions that had been dancing along the edge of his mind since first seeing the mountains. "Is there any way to safely find out?"
"I can cast a simple surveillance spell on the rocks to see if there is or was any life among them. However, I would not work your hopes up too much, Roran Stronghammer. The possibility—"
"Yes, is low, I understand. But can you try?" His frustration, anxiety, anticipation levels were mounting to an unhealthy stage. His heart was beating in his ears. The hot air was still not reaching his lungs quickly enough.
The elf closed her eyes and took a deep breath before beginning to speak in words so foreign and alien to Roran, they nearly felt wrong. "Syno mehi vidao vid vysom inus moena tof mons monti. Quaero viota inter fells."
For a moment, nothing seemed to happen. Roran waited, the hot air pressing down on him with almost unbearable pressure. He could hear the heavy breaths of the unconscious dragon behind him. And then, suddenly, Arya opened her eyes.
Her eyes, once such a deep, beautiful shade of emerald green, where now glazed over with thick gold paint. She had no distinguished pupil or iris, no whites of the eyes or the mysterious, knowing glint that often sparkled in their depths. Just shallow, meaningless gold.
And then she gasped, visibly flinching away from something as she slammed her eyelids shut. "Solvi veneficean. Tribo mehi tergaem meusos oculi!" She commanded hastily. Roran watched, not knowing whether he should attempt to help or allow the elf to do it herself. Not that he was particularly successful or learned in the areas of magic.
Arya kept her eyes tightly shut with her head bent down. Roran could hear her breathing slowly but surely begin to level until it was normal again. Finally, she looked up, her eyes the normal color of the forest trees in high spring. But they looked—surprised, scared, appalled—
"It's impossible!"
"What is it?" Roran asked, scampering to her side. "What did you see? Did you see Eragon? Is someone living up there?" The questions tumbled out of his mouth without going through a thorough thought process. He could not hold them back.
Arya turned away, looking instead at the now towering and intimidating mountains in the distance. "No." She said slowly, as if her mind was as far away as the Du Fells Nangoroth. "Not someone. All of them. Tons. Roran," She turned back to the human warrior, worry and disbelief so uncharacteristic of her dancing in her features. "There's an entire city of them!"
TBC
Actually, my original plan was to combine chapters eleven and twelve into one mega-chapter, but that would have been near a million pages long, annoyingly on-going, and I kind of liked where it ended here as opposed to where it was going to end. Also, that adds one more chapter to the story, for, unfortunately, the end is near. Only a few more chapters left of my first fanfiction. *sigh* It's been a hell-of-a-ride. But for now, please feel free to feed the ever-hungry review box. He appreciates your comment, questions, concerns, and critiques oh so very much =) As do I!
