*peeps from around corner*
Hope you all are alive and well, and still interested. Thank you all for your reviews and wishes for my dad's recovery. He's doing much better now, no major damage, just a bit of short term memory loss.
I'm quite happy that you liked the last chapter and I hope you enjoy this chapter. It deals with the events following the last chapter: Murtagh reading the file, and Nasuada revealing her father's death (for those of you who need a reminder). I opted for a narrative style of an original character to explore what Murtagh reads in the files instead of the format of a standard report.
I decided against going for Brom's pov in this chapter, as I wanted to explore a different side of Selena without Brom's skewed view interrupting. Please enjoy.
Thanks to all those who reviewed on the last chapter, and continue to support this labour of love. Forgive any grammatical errors or spelling errors please as I am beta-ing my own work and after writing and reading something so long, sometimes I do miss errors.
The truth, no matter how painful is infinitely better than the cruel torments of uncertainty - Unknown
Chapter Twenty One
The Graveyard
Death comes to us all….
We cannot escape its wretched grip. It touches the lives of the meekest of us to those dwelling in the silk of pomp and splendour. It slithers through the twilight of our unassuming lives and with its icy fingers grabs unbiased from the sheaf – the brave, the cowards, the good, the evil. It cannot see the works of a man, the life that he has lived, the people he has loved, the souls who will be haunted by his loss.
Death is a thief – stealing from us the most precious in our possession. And it clothes us with loss, drapes us with grief - leaves us hanging in a void of black. . .
Black…thoughts
Black….memories….
She feels the black….
A familiar smothering,
choking,
suffocating,
constricting….colour.
It is not only a colour, it is a feeling…It is a memory.
She remembers all too well the black….charcoal of his hair, the black briefcase he'd carry to work when things were good. Those years seem like decades ago.
She remembers the black…dress…
Her mother…Her face is etched into her memory – haunted by the mirror she stands before now….with the black garment in hand.
The material is like water, slipping through her fingers in silky black waves and unto the floor into a puddle of black.
Her eyes are fixed at the figure staring back at her with frigid intensity. She blinks at the reflection of her mother – her own reflection- staring back at her from the mirror. She is silent, taking in the solemnity that oozes from the walls and infects her in its trance. A soft breath steals from her lips. For a moment the notion lays heavy with her and she cannot breath.
The day has finally come.
The longer she stares at herself the more alone she feels. In this room there is no Eragon, no Murtagh, no Brom, no Saphira. In this room she is alone, her only companions are the memories that chip away at her, sinking her further and further into a grief she tries so desperately to ignore.
Her eyes glance down to her hands, to her broken fingers unsheathed from the glove – the memory of that night is sour in her mouth, yet it cannot compare to the bitterness of the present. Her lip tighten as she spies the puddle of black cloth pooled at her feet.
The loss stirs in her chest. It feels all too familiar - the black dress; the solemn silence of the manor; the timid melancholy of those around her…the twisting agony in her chest that refuses to abate; that sense of finality that stings the air. Her sigh is long and arduous. She feels exhausted like a marathon runner on the very last stretch – but there is no last stretch. There is no finish line in this. There is no end to the void in her soul and that above all makes everything seem all the more hopeless. She will stay like this forever she is sure, numbly stuck in her grief – her scars of loss will never fade.
The sadness deepens with each passing second that she gazes at the dress Brom had bought her for the occasion. Expensive…Versace she thinks and laughs bitterly at his frail attempt at easing some of the agony of the day. He could have gotten her an old flour bag to wear and still it would be too painful to look at. It is beautiful, flowing silk …It is still too painful to look at.
Her gaze shifts to the mirror once more and immediately locks with a foreign stare. Her chest tightens as she realizes, her deep brown eyes have grown so hard over the years. She is a girl…a girl with no parents. A sense of helplessness sweeps over her and she steps back, sinking to sit at the foot of the bed. Her eyes shift to the floor, to the deep black material that lies limply there.
"Black…the colour of despair…" she murmurs absently, yet her voice is broken and the tears well in her eyes. She clenches herself however – remembering – all too well the dried eyes of her own father upon that fateful day when she was twelve. He had loved her mother…yet he did not cry. So no, she wouldn't cry, not now…not here…she couldn't cry. This is just the morning, and she has the whole day to get through. She steels herself, and gathering the last of whatever inner strength is left, she picks up the black dress from the floor and stands, her back straight as an arrow.
The silence in the bedroom is deafening.
And the world somehow seems frozen in the melancholy that would rather have her curled up in bed and unwilling to face the day.
Her own eyes haunt her – they are like granite…they are old and worn…she has seen too much…
She is a girl…a youth… and she has seen too much…felt too much loss.
She fights the desperation growing in her gut, and willing herself, she steps forward with the dress in hand towards the mirror. She sighs slipping off the bathrobe which she had wrapped around herself, and begins slipping into the dress.
She stares at the reflection that glared back at her – her mother…her…
I am a girl – She tells herself…
A lie.
She knows now, deep in her heart, that she is no longer a girl. The hurt settles in her chest at the thought. It grows like a root in her soul and she swallows the strangling cry that threatens to crack through her lips…
Her eyes are hard like granite…like her mother's…
She is a woman now.
-X-
Papers…the papers were everywhere
" No I didn't see him but he was a drunk son of a bitch. He must've been! Did you see what he did to his son? That boy died on that gurney, it was by some miracle we brought him back. . .a miracle that he's even alive now. Only a monster would rip open a child like that..."
- Gary Meadows, Paramedic
So many truths…so many…perceptions. Guilty or innocent?
"I saw the blood. It'd been everywhere, on the walls on the floor, on the bed, the mirror…just goddamned everywhere. Now I've been a police officer a long time, and I know what a suicide looks like…that woman blew her own head off."
– Officer Lawrence Hill
.
"If he killed her? I…
I don't know. Seeing them in public you wouldn't know, but I've heard them in private – always screaming at each other. They were in a troubled marriage...the way Selena spoke, I think Morzan was having an affair…"
– Harris Lupin, Neighbour
…Monster or man?
"These rich people think they can get away with anything. It's no secret that his father was involved with the Empire scam. That old man was a devil, scammed fifty people out of their businesses and wasn't even arrested. Now the whole damn port belongs to him. So yea, I think he'd do it…if his father had no soul, why should he?"
– Hrothgar Trojenson
Murtagh found himself even more confused. He'd been reading through what he thought had been witness reports for a solid week now, but still he couldn't understand. What was truth?
Was there even a truth?
He looked at the report he'd taken out that morning. It was by an old maid, who'd worked on the Manor for several years, Florence McElling…
"She was cheating on him…with the gardener. For the longest while, she threatened me from telling him, but when I finally managed to, he had already known… He'd known for months and he didn't seem to care.
I think it only made things worse.
Selena loved him, in her own sick little way.
I've been in this house for 22 years, I practically raised Morzan. The Forsworn, Household was always strange, but Morzan was never fully like them. He was a sweet boy, but he grew up in the wrong family. Sweet had no place in their family and they weren't people to be trifled with. So no Sir I don't think it's a matter of who killed who, or who did what, Sir. It's much more complicated than that. People aren't born monsters…it's circumstances that turn us all dark. It's our own fears, our demons, and even our love that taints us. They boy I raised wasn't blood thirsty; He wouldn't have…and he didn't do what you're suggesting, but…
Never mind, you wouldn't understand.
Morzan didn't pull the trigger…but he might as well have. . ."
"Hey!" Murtagh jolted as a hand slammed on paper he'd been reading. He looked up in dark surprise to see Eragon's watchful eye peering down at him. He looked terrified, like a man caught in sin. Eragon's brow twisted at him in suspicion.
"What are you reading?" He questioned, his eye brow cocked. Murtagh quickly stuffed the papers back into the book he'd been hiding them in while muttering a hurried –
"Nothing."
Eragon gave him a look, glancing at the book, before huffing in dissatisfaction. He squished himself in beside his brother on the couch. The early morning light that flustered haplessly into the living room gave his blond hair a heavenly glow. Eragon sighed, fiddling with the expensive cuff links that Murtagh had given him a while back. Murtagh took the moment to quietly tuck the book beside him.
"You nervous?" He turned to his brother, seeing the agitation carved into his brow.
"No." Eragon shot back too quickly. He belatedly looked at the knowing expression of Murtagh, then crumpled.
"Yes…" he admitted. "I've never been to one before…what do I do, what do I say…?"
Murtagh gave him a sad half grin, but his voice was grave. "Eragon, there's nothing to do or say. We all knew that this was coming eventually. All we can do is try to be there for her. This day is going to be one of the hardest in her life."
The nervousness in Eragon's eyes died, replaced by a mute grief. He nodded sadly at his brother. Murtagh rested a comforting hand on his shoulder, as they sat alone caught up in the silence of the Manor.
" Do you remember?" Eragon's voice carried loudly after uncomfortable seconds of silence had simmered between them. Murtagh blinked at Eragon's question. He turned to him in curiosity.
"Remember what?"
"What it was like…at mom's funeral…" Murtagh felt himself stiffen at Eragon's words. He turned away from him just as the faint sound of footsteps echoed behind them. The click of Nasuada's heels saved him. He jolted out of the seat, leaving his quiet brother, to catch her figure coming down the stairs.
Eragon stared after him curiously, before his eyes settled beside him where Murtagh's abandoned book was tucked into the couch.
.….
Nasuada was dressed in all black, with the most serious expression etched into her brow. Somehow she seemed to stand taller than him. She looked stronger despite the scars of loss carved into her hardened jaw, in the deep flint like umber of her eyes …no…she was stronger with them. She was beautiful. She was regal in her pain. Murtagh found himself staring at her as he stood at the foot of the stairs, patiently waiting for her to descend them. His words were caught in throat as she held his gaze. Her long strides soon found them face to face.
He held a hand out to her, and she took his arm instead, entwining her own with his. He didn't say a word to her and he didn't need to. She rested a head on his shoulder, looking up at him, and for a second he could see a hint of fear in her eyes.
"You'll be ok…" he assured her quietly. For a moment he felt like he was talking to himself. Nasuada inhaled deeply, then took her head off his shoulder. Her hand brushed against his cheek, and her eyes were deep and knowing as they stared into his.
Murtagh felt unnerved at her silence, at the boldness locked in her eyes.
"So will you…" she murmured quietly, keeping her gaze on him. For the second time Murtagh did not know what to say. He merely swallowed a hard lump that had begun forming in his throat as Nasuada slowly retracted her hand. His cheek felt suddenly cold and he caught himself almost reaching back for the warmth of her hand.
He was about to hold on to her, but she pulled away too quickly, her eyes glued to the massive doorway. His eyes slowly turned to what see what she was looking at before they narrowed suddenly. A cool gritty feeling ran through him like burning ice, as he saw his stepfather in the standing by the doorway.
Brom did not…could not…look at him. Instead his stepfather's sad brown eyes drifted towards the upright figure of Nasuada standing beside him in the foyer. He tried to force an encouraging smile towards her, but it came out crooked and pained.
"Ready in five. " He ordered quietly, before disappearing into the warm morning light outside. Nasuada turned to Murtagh who had crept up beside her once more now that Brom had disappeared. Deep apprehension paralyzed them both. Eragon had asked him if he remembered their mother's funeral…He did.
He couldn't remember exactly, what or who or when but he did remember scraps and pieces. He remembered that empty – empty feeling – that confusion as a child barely able to understand the world – standing in the grass, staring down into the empty pit of earth. He remembered wanting his mommy, not understanding why she wasn't there…
The same feeling of impotence held him…he was lost – confused…this truth had managed to scramble his reality even more than he had ever anticipated without actually giving him answers. Each report only managed to confuse him more – each voice was stuck in his head…
Larry the mailman, who thought the Forsworn family had been a cult of satanists…
Jenna the nurse who had seen little Murtagh wheeled in with his back split open…who had no clue who Morzan or his family were…
The Maid Florence McElling…who seemed to know more than anyone else…
Murtagh needed answers – and reading all those things made him only have more questions…
Was Morzan innocent?
Did Selena really cheat on him?
Was he cheating on Selena?
Did Morzan really kill her…?
Why did Morzan try to kill him?
He blinked, surprised as he felt Nasuada's hand gently slip into his, interrupting his thought. He glanced at her yet she did not look at him. Her gaze was set astutely upon the door and the brimming light shining into the foyer from the outside.
From the corner of his eye, he gazed at her, and it was then that he saw the same, lost look simmering in her eyes, that confusion towards the reality that fate had served her. He knew that they were same, he and her.
The truth of their lives was glaring them dead in the face, and somehow they could not yet process it. Nasuada could not accept the present, and he could not connect the haphazard shards of the past that had been handed to him.
Staring at the doorway with the amber light beaming from it, was staring at the outside world – a world of purity and happiness – a world which did not know their pain, or confusion. Uncertainty of what it would do to their lost souls paralyzed them, and all they could do was stare. It was like standing at St. Peter's Gate staring into Paradise but unable to enter.
Their guardian angel fluttered up quietly behind them, startling them with his rather loud pronouncement.
"So, we're leaving and no one bothered to get me…" Both of them jolted as Eragon slapped a hand on both their shoulders and leaned in between them from behind. Despite everything he had a teasing yet accusing smile on his face.
The smile lessened somewhat as he saw the dampened look on both Nasuada and his brother's faces. He held them close to him, as if protecting them from whatever dark thing was eating them up from the inside.
"Are …we…ready?"
The question was a simple one – easily answered. The luggage had already been packed in the car. They all had their passports and all their relevant documents. . . Most importantly, they had each other. Eragon glanced at them, noting that the hesitance slowly began to slip in their hardened gazes as the warmth of his hands and his heart melted into their icy realities. A soft sad smile slithered across his lips, and he parted them, putting himself just so he stood in the middle with both their hands in his grasp.
He nodded belatedly, leading them towards the door. The light was almost blinding before them, enrapturing them in its amber glow. For a second, if only a second, he felt some of that light pass between them all as they stood in the shimmering warmth of the new morning. They would drown alone, but together…together maybe they had a chance.
Pausing for a second, they all gazed at each other, then stepped out into the light.
-X-
It was very few occasions that he made himself unclean. It was not a light matter to trifle with the dead. . .yet…this was a mere crack in the smooth diamond that was the bigger plan. He would have gladly gone to twenty thousand funerals, if it were to get him what he wanted. Luckily for him, it seemed only one would be needed.
Fadawar had what could be only described as a completely inappropriate smile as cousin to the daughter of the deceased, yet he could not help it. This funeral was the mark of everything he had been working for. It was…the true beginning.
The smile remained, not even ruined by the horrible traffic that crammed the entrance into the city. Fadawar simply hummed to himself, amid the bustle, too much in a good mood to let anything ruin it. He thought of the hours ahead and an unbridled excitement filled him.
He chuckled softly to himself. Poor Brom, the sucker had no idea what he was really here for. This was so much bigger than him...so much bigger than what he thought. Fadawar had come back to the small ignorant town of Varden for almost a week dealing with other business - putting everything in motion. The swell of impending victory was rich in his chest. It was so close he could almost taste it…
…Almost…
There was still one piece left in the game…
One piece on which everything hung.
He swallowed the sobering notion, as the traffic jam slowly cleared and he pressed his foot on the gas. The vehicle revved quietly and slowly screeched past the massive sign that hung at the city entrance.
"Welcome to Surda"
His gaze flitted to the giant brown folder sitting securely in the passenger's seat next to him. – The documents…
His mind flashed back to those sickly skeletal hands, fumbling with the pen…the hollow delirium in those eyes glazed over in a medicated fog…Fadawar remembered the excitement clawing at his tongue as Ajihad's signature was finally scraped unto the papers…A sense of accomplishment had filled him.
The smile was highly inappropriate yet it would not abate. Who knew funerals could bring so much joy?
Fadawar chuckled to himself as he drifted into the foreign city, taking in all the sights and sounds through his car window. Today was going to be quite eventful indeed.
-X-
Orrin was everything she'd hoped he would be. He tried his best to be anyway. He still remembered the painful look in her eyes when she came to him after school that day, somehow knowing he'd be in the chemistry lab late in the evening.
It'd been two days after Thanksgiving, and with end of term exams coming up soon, he'd been excited to see that at least one of his pupils had come to him for clarification on a lesson. He'd been so caught up in eagerness, that he'd almost missed the agony hidden in her eyes…almost.
Orrin scribbled lazily against the paper before him. There had been so many corrections that the whole paper looked like it was dripping in red ink. He sighed, all the vim and vigour in him gone after hours of paper after paper, F after F. Growling lowly to himself he marked another reprehensibly low grade on the test paper – with the words – 'Apply yourself!' scratched at the top.
He sighed, glancing at the pile of unmarked papers on his desk with weary green eyes, before turning to the fresh paper at hand.
A tinge of a smile tugged at his lip as he saw the name – Nasuada Nightstalker…
"Mr. Larkin?"
His fingers moved fluidly across the paper, ticking a series of right answers – before he stopped suddenly – frowning.
How could she possibly get this wrong? He taught this right before the holiday break…The question was insanely easy –even the remarkable F students had gotten it right….
"Mr. Larkin?" A solid rap caught his attention, and he looked up to see the very student standing sheepishly at the door.
His eyes gleamed and a genuine smile leapt across his face as he stood and motioned for her to come in.
"Ah, just the woman I wanted to see." He noticed how she cringed at the word woman, as she entered the room. Orrin's smile tempered into a faint line as he saw how dead she walked, and how hunched over her posture was. This was not the Nasuada he knew.
"Please sit." He motioned for her to take the stool that was conveniently set in front of his desk. He then placed the paper in front of her to see and pointed at the offensive question. His own question was written in his gaze.
"Nasuada what happened? I know you know how to balance the chemical equation for sodium hydrophosphite" he quirked, with concern written in his brow.
"It was one of the first things you were taught since the term and something we reviewed right before Thanksgiving. How did you get this wr-"
He stopped abruptly, fright slapped unto his face as he saw his childhood companion staring at him as if he'd given her the worse news on the planet. Her mouth was twisted up, and obvious tears were welled in her eyes. He sputtered in his seat.
"Oh, god, I'm sorry Nasuada, I didn't mean to upset you. It's not that serious, it's only two points, I was just concerned that-" He swallowed the rest of his words, as the girl suddenly gripped her own hands and began weeping quietly to herself. Orrin stood, completely frozen up. He didn't know what to do. Seeing her like this broke his heart. Against his better judgement, he circled the desk and bent to meet her figure. Squashing the last of his apprehension, he then gathered her into his arms.
He smoothed his hand over her hair, attempting to comfort her, as she continued to weep silently against his chest. His face was the epitome of confusion and worry.
"Nasuada, don't worry. It will be fine. You know you can always come to me for help with any of the topics." He soothed, before patting her back awkwardly.
She shuddered against him, and he felt her inhale sharply. It was then that she pulled away. Her eyes were red with tears.
"It won't be fine, Orrin."
All formal pleasantries were forgotten, and Orrin could not hide the apprehension that filled him when he heard her call him by his first name. She sat back down, on the stool as he stood in front of her with his own desk behind him. He noted how oddly mature her gaze was as it met shook her head, breaking eye contact with him.
"I've been lying to you." She admitted quietly.
Orrin's eyes furrowed. He blinked, unsure of what to say as a million thoughts whizzed about his brain all at once. She finally looked up at him, staring into his wide green eyes.
"My dad…" she said, her voice trembling slightly. "He wasn't fine, when you asked."
Orrin blinked at her, straightening himself as his eyes creased further with concern.
"And now, he's…gone."It took Orrin a bit to fully comprehend all that Nasuada had said with those few words. Five seconds…it took five seconds for the reality to crash down on him. He stumbled backwards, bumping helplessly against his desk. He slumped against it, horror in his eyes.
"no…no…" he whispered, shaking his head at her, as if his words could turn back time.
Nasuada, pressed a palm against her forehead. Orrin gazed at her, lost.
"He had cancer." She murmurs. Orrin had a hand covering his face.
"Why didn't you tell me…?" he asked, not looking at her.
Nasuada stood up from her seat. "I guess pretending that everything was o.k. was easier than facing the reality then." She murmured resignedly.
Orrin nodded slightly, understanding. Nasuada looked apprehensive, as he finally looked up to meet her gaze once more.
"What is it?" he asked. Nasuada stepped towards him, a little too close for his usual comfort, but right then he didn't seem to care or to notice.
"I n-need your help…" she muttered quietly, her eyes betraying the self-loathing she felt then of having to even ask for it. Orrin rested a hand on her shoulder, pulling her into a loose hug once more. His eyes were strangely protective, as he murmured into her hair.
"Tell me what you need."
. . .
Flowers
. . .Pastor
Grave site
. . .Certificate
Plane tickets
. . .Reservations
Countless of emails and the like…
Turns out, Nasuada had needed a lot. She hadn't even realized it. Orrin remembered looking at her absurdly when she'd merely asked him to help her to organize her dad's funeral service. He'd taken her by the arms and stared at her intently promising her, that he'd take care of everything.
And He had.
Sure his parents had a bit peeved when he told them that he'd be using a part of the family plot to bury someone who wasn't family, but when he told them exactly who that someone was – all argument had ceased. Ajihad, had always been like family to them in a sense.
What Orrin hadn't bothered to tell them was that he was paying for everything else too.
Sooner or later, his parents would find out when they saw the massive heaps of money missing from his account, but at the moment he could've cared less. Nasuada was his childhood friend and that meant something to him. He couldn't have been there when her mother had passed, but he'd be damned if he didn't help her now. And he'd also be damned if she found out just how expensive his help would be. . .He could almost imagine the pride filled horror splattered across her face at the thought of his charity…No, it would be much better if she did not know.
The thought of her, made him slightly queasy now. He was nervous. Had he done everything right? He counted off the massive list of things he'd organized and prayed that he hadn't missed anything. He didn't want her to worry about anything; that was the point of him helping in the first place.
His stomach did a nervous flip as he stood there, waiting in the crowd beside his chauffeur. Every minute he checked his watch, then scanned the crowd entering the massive hall.
Orrin checked his watch again, huffing aloud. "Her flight was supposed to arrive over 10 minutes ago…Where is she?"
"I don't know, Sir." His chauffeur, a middle aged man with bright brown eyes said.
Orrin side glanced at him, concern turning in his gut. "Jerry, are you holding up that sign high enough for her to see…I mean she isn't exactly short, but she-"
"Mr. Larkin, I believe that's her?" the question had Orrin dart his gaze in the direction to which Jerry pointed. In that moment Orrin felt his breath hitch, felt his stomach drop. He felt nauseous as he saw the four figures striding towards him – three of them, with their arms latched together. It wasn't this that had him feeling as if he was about to have a heart attack however. It was the figure that lingered behind them that made him ill….It was the tall stately figure of the very man who'd employed him – The Principal of Varden High, Mr. Brom Holcombson.
"Orrin…"Nasuada's face lit up as she saw him. She scurried away from her two teenage companions to hurry towards him. The smile on his face was lost however as she suddenly pulled him into a loose hug. His eyes were wide as saucers and he stared terrified into the keen impenetrable gaze of Principal Brom behind her as he made it over with his sons.
He chuckled nervously to himself, and awkwardly patted Nasuada on the back, as she pulled away from him. Amid the sadness in her countenance, he could tell that she was genuinely happy to see him. The notion gave him strange comfort.
Nasuada turned to introduce everyone.
"Murtagh, this is Mr. Orrin Larkin." She glanced at the brother then at her friend. "Orrin this is Murtagh."
The two shook hands, Orrin managed a twitchy smile. Nasuada turned to Eragon, but Orrin had already taken his hand.
"Mr. Bromson, nice to see you outside of class. I wish the circumstances had been different though."
Eragon managed a polite smile. "Mr. Larkin." Nasuada could tell he was a little perturbed at seeing his chemistry teacher outside of the school laboratory. He shuffled out of the way as Orrin approached his boss.
"Mr. Holcombson, I didn't reali-"
"Mr. Larkin, thank you so much for your help." Brom began, a small smile tucked into his lips. Orrin stuttered. Brom drew him aside, murmuring so that the teens could not hear him.
"And thank you for being there for Nasuada, during this difficult time. I know that you two have known each other for a while. You know her much better than I do. Please…" he lowevered his voice even further, clutching to Orrin's arm. "look out for her. I am worried about how she's taking all of this."
Orrin looked slightly bewildered. "Mr. Holcombson, I'm not sure what-"
"Look out for her." Brom said. His voice had an edge to it. "right now, I don't think I'm enough…" Orrin's lips slumped into a thin line of concern. He nodded to the Principal and politely scurried away.
"…for any of them…" Brom murmured when he was out of earshot, his eyes glued to his two sons.
Orrin stood beside Nasuada, as his chauffeur took her luggage in hand and stepped off in the direction of the parking lot. He glanced behind him at Principal Brom who had a solemn melancholy expression etched into his brow as if some memory haunted him. Swallowing tightly, Orrin turned back, and putting a hand over her shoulder, he looked at Nasuada hesitantly once more. His smile was faint, yet it was real.
"Come on, let's get going."
-X-
"It was neglect that killed her, ultimately I think.
While Morzan never hurt a hair on her head, he was hardly what you would call a husband. He took care of her, yes. He bought her anything she wanted, needed, but he was never there. There were no birthdays, or anniversaries. I remember feeling sorry for her on one of his Birthdays, when she'd done up the house in decorations and candles, invited all the neighbours over and waited to surprise him, when he came home.
I tried to warn her…but she didn't listen.
He never came home.
And if it was one thing Selena could not stand it was public embarrassment. Livid wouldn't be the word to describe the wrath that awaited him when he finally stepped through the doors a week later, his face alight with happiness he seemed only to get when away from this house. I remember listening at the stairwell to her screaming at him. He'd never said a word, until. Until she threatened him…
'I'm going to your father! I'll have him straighten you out, cut you down to size in front of the whole board!"
There was a tense silence. "You will do no such thing."
His voice was so quiet, I almost didn't hear him.
"You don't take me seriously…! You think I'm an idiot don't you?! You think I don't know you weren't with that whore on your Birthday, while I sat here waiting for you with the whole damn neighbourhood! I looked like such a fool!"
I heard a snort. "You are a fool, Selena…"
A gasp.
"for taking me for the fool. You spend all your time making a show for the neighbours that we're the happiest most sexed up couple in all of Varden...Keeping up appearances you call it. I call it bullshit...! I've always known that you only married me for my money. Your family was broke, and the Forsworn household was just brimming with riches, you couldn't resist. Your family snaked your way into my father's good graces, but you couldn't fool me."
A slap.
"What? The truth hurt, babe?"
"You're a bastard!"
"And you're a liar" I heard him hiss, with such venom in his voice it stung at me through the walls.
"You lied to her, and told her that you were pregnant, when you knew that we were going through a rough patch, and that I'd never even touched you! You chased her away with your lies right into someone elses arms—just so, you'd have me all to yourself…! Rather so you could have my money!"
Selena was silent. Morzan was in a rage. "Yes I know! She told me!"
His voice quieted to something dark and menacing. "but guess what Selena—your plan didn't work. I may have married you, to save myself the pain of watching her with another, but she's leaving him. And I'm leaving you…and our prenup says you won't get a goddamn dime."
"W-what. Morzan. No you can't!"
"Watch me.." I heard the smothered footsteps coming closer to where I was. I almost scurried away, before I heard it, a low and desperate plea.
"I-I'm pregnant!"
And so, the news broke.—Selena was having a child—his child. It was then that Morzan took to drink.
. . .
Eragon could see the mute, horror that washed over Murtagh's face when he handed him the book that he'd left carelessly on the couch back at home. It seemed his brother had forgotten about it altogether with everything going on. He'd asked him fearfully, if he'd read the paper inside. Eragon told him no, it was Murtagh's business and he would respect it. Yet Eragon could not help that bad queasy feeling that held him as he saw his brother hunched over in the back of the car eyes glued to the book. His brows had a permanent furrow in them as if he was reading something that burned him in his soul.
"Murtagh. Murtagh!"
It took a slap to the arm to get his brother's attention.
"We're here." Eragon announced. It was only then that his brother turned in surprise to the door which the driver had already opened for him. Clutching his book at the chest, he gingerly stepped out after Eragon, with a thoroughly dazed look on his face, as if he'd awoken mid dream.
"This is Surda, guys." Nasuada's voice was unusually strong given the circumstance. She motioned absently to the scenic view before them as Murtagh hobbled ungracefully from the car.
Eragon felt a strange chill creep up his spine as he spied the place where they'd stopped.
"…this is a graveyard…" he murmured to himself. He scurried over towards her and Orrin who'd surprisingly been uncharacteristically close to Nasuada since the airport. Eragon eyed him warily, unsure of his intentions, as he led Nasuada by the small of her back.
Turning back, Eragon saw Murtagh, glancing back at the page tucked neatly in his book, completely engulfed in whatever story was unfolding for him. He saw Brom slink past his brother, and he'd never seen anyone shut a book so fast in their life—worse the look of disdain that held Murtagh's face as his father passed, hurt Eragon to the core. He turned away without a word, and walked ahead, hurrying to keep up with Nasuada who was now walking towards the thick green pasture littered with gravestones.
. . . .
It seemed that Nasuada was just as confused as Eragon was when she saw the massive crowd seated before the foot of her father's grave. For a moment she froze with Orrin's hand on her back, refusing to step through the aisle which made the whole affair resemble some sort of twisted wedding, with Orrin leading her and her array of morbid bridesmaids following behind – Eragon, Murtagh and Brom. As if sensing her presence the whole crowd turned and stared at her intently and a massive hush fell across the space. Orrin looked bewildered, shifting his hand to grasp her by the shoulder.
"Nasuada, you O.K?" He whispered to her. She nodded crudely, the sallow smile she'd sported slipping quickly from her face. What replaced it was sombre and dark. The grief swam in her eyes as she saw the faces eagerly observing her.
She knew them – those faces – were from the life she'd left behind so long ago. There was Mrs. Jenkins their old neighbour and her grandsons, Paul and James. There was Kristen – his old secretary back at Nighstalker Inc, and Mr. Olson and Mrs. Greenwood from the Board, and Trianna –
Nasuada froze eyes locked with the visage of distinct beauty, of deep brunette hair that fell in lustrous waves and cat green eyes that were full of secrets. A wave of anger swept through her like a high tide. What the hell was that woman doing here!?
Hadn't she done enough damage?
Ruining her father wasn't enough, she had to dishonour the memory of him at his funeral too?
It was Orrin's arm that prevented her from chucking at the bitch like an animal; but it was Murtagh's touch that soothed her. He somehow had sensed her distress, and had smoothed a warm hand across her shoulder blade. She turned and locked with his knowing gaze, unprepared to be so trapped in his ice blue eyes and the pain in them. She hurriedly turned back to Orrin who was now pointing to the very front of the aisle where their seats were. Closing her eyes, Nasuada took a step forward…and then another, and another.
Walking had turned into something mechanical and forced, nonetheless...
She could do this.
She had to do this. There was no one else. Her father had no one else. She had no one else. She held on to Orrin's arm tightly – as the thought pierced through her heart. The memory of him haunted her, New York played incessantly in her mind – her forever nightmare.
With a quivering breath she allowed Orrin to escort her to her seat, and it was then that the finality of everything bore down on her, as the Deacon that Orrin had booked for the occasion took his place by the graveside.
-X-
"Remember that amid the darkness…there is always a light. May Jehovah guide you through this difficult time, Nasuada…"
There was no light here, not at the graveside, not in her mind –which refused to cease its torture. Memories of that day pierced through her brain and battered against her consciousness—bending her to submit to the grief that was just below the surface. The Deacon's ending words were her signal.
"My father has no one else. I have to do this for him…" It was a mantra that did little to ease the agony swarming in her belly.
Nasuada found her feet; she nearly tripped. Sitting beside her Orrin tried to catch her, but at the last minute she found her balance. He stood as if to escort her, but she shook her head at him.
She had to do this alone.
Each step she took was loud – she could hear the thunderous rush of blood pumping in her ears. The air was unnaturally cold to her, and her fingers quivered as they held the series of papers she'd prepared for the final farewell.
Clearing her throat awkwardly, she then glanced over the mass of people staring up at her expectantly. She froze as her eyes locked with a pair of dark almond shaped eyes that reminded her of her father.
Fadawar…her cousin. His face was distinct in the crowd –a silent memory of New York. She tore her eyes away, training them on the paper as the words fled her and all that played was the memory of that horrible sound blaring through the chaos—those cold dead umber eyes staring up at the nothing, those icy skeletal fingers clenching the picture of her against a bony chest.
She never got to say goodbye.
Nasuada took a final look at the crowd, her fingers loosened. Her lips parted.
The papers fluttered to the ground… The sound pierced into her brain—ripping the grief through her like a knife.
That blaring 'beep' of the monitor—that final awful sound—found its way into her reality.
Panicked, Nasuada glanced back to the front of the crowd, where Murtagh, Eragon, Brom and Orrin looked on in silent horror as she unravelled before them all. She could feel the tears sliding down her cheeks. She could hear the hushed murmuring of the crowd – the fright in their voices, the concern in their stares.
She could sense that she was shaking…that she was screaming.
It was Brom who had to drag her away.
The blaring was incessant – the line flat against the screen. She fought against Brom, hollering madly as the doctors tried to revive him. She was crying, screaming…
She was too late…
She never got to say goodbye…
For a second, she broke free and ran straight into the chaos of the hospital room and into the cold lifeless arms of her father. She clutched to his bony arms refusing to let go, as the nurses tried to drag her away.
"How could you do this to me?!" She heard herself yell, over and over and over again. There was a sharp pain as the needle pierced into her neck, the nurses hands restraining her and suddenly she was drowsy…yet the screaming remained – a desperate demand.
"How could you do this to me?" the words were a tearful growl on her quivering lips now as the tears rushed hot and numerous down her cheeks. She crumpled into a mess of heaping wails.
She couldn't do this.
She wasn't strong enough.
A pair of arms found her, attempting to draw her into a secure embrace. But Nasuada pushed away.
"I can't do this." – The pronouncement was like lead in her mouth.
Straightening herself, she glanced at the crowd once more with wild eyes, before dashing madly down the aisle.
-X-
Chaos.
With each passing hour it had only seemed to get worse. The morning had turned to afternoon and soon the evening light waned. Still, they had not found her. Panic was seared into the veins of every person who had come to the funeral of Ajihad Nightstalker. Yet it seemed to resonate most deeply with the few who knew Nasuada best.
Orrin looked completely lost, like a scurrying rabbit seeking the unattainable safety of his burrow. He sat alone by the graveside watching with unseeing eyes as the light swept past the sky in a blinding collage of shimmering of amber and reds and blues.
He did not register the chattering of the policeman hovering over him, asking him about the girl he had seen break down and run madly from the funeral that he had planned for her father. He could not answer the questions.
"Where do you think Nasu'da would have gone?"
Her name was Na-su-a-da...not whatever the hell this burly obviously patronizing police officer was saying. The man genuinely looked completely uninterested or even remotely concerned that she had been missing for almost eight hours. Yes, it was still too early to file a missing person's report, but Orrin's parents had called in some favours with the police department, and this officer looked far from pleased.
"Mr. Larkin, is there any place that Nasu'da was familiar with around here, any place of significance where she would-"
"Her name is Nasuada." Orrin murmured, with an absent stare, taking in the fading crowd retreating to their respective vehicles as the last scruple of sunlight scraped its way across the lush green of the immaculately kept graveyard. They had lost interest, the whole of them. Even his parents had given up. In a sense he had as well. They had scoured the streets, pressed the pedestrians for answers, looked through alleyways and bus stations – anywhere, everywhere for her. Now, the only ones who remained were scattered in a scanty array about the large property caught up in their own mind, their own affairs...their own chaos.
Orrin could tell the police officer was frustrated ( He hadn't even given the poor man one straight answer), but so was everyone else... Mr. Holcombson had asked him one thing, one thing that he had not done. - "Look out for her..."
Orrin closed his eyes shutting out the bored, monotonous bumble of the officer, and he could feel it – the darkness that tainted the air – emanating from the earthy pit that lay only a few feet from him. Orrin turned glazed green eyes towards the unfilled grave where the deep mahogany casket perched brazenly beside it. He could almost see the melancholy, emanating from the grave in curling black smoke; could see it whisper through the air, grappling towards him, caressing his ankles as the officer continued to mispronounce her name, continued to ask him irrelevant, unnecessary questions that he could not answer.
He had already told him.
Nasuada had only been to Surda once as a child, when she spent a week in the summer at his parent's villa. He had been eleven then which would have made her only six years old. She had never been to this side of the city.
She didn't know anywhere...anyone...in this place.
"Does Nasu'da have any relatives in thi-"
"It's Nasuada." the hard sound of Orrin's own voice brought him back, chasing the darkness that swept about his feet back towards the grave. Nasuada had been right...this was too much. He accepted now that...He couldn't do this... He stood abruptly, frightening the already stunned police officer who had taken a step back, having lost his bearings at Orrin's sudden clarity.
"Her name is Nasuada. At least get that right." he snapped, before angrily brushing past the bewildered officer and away from the array of chairs that still sat neatly arranged before the grave.
He practically ran from it all as the smoke chased after him, wanting to swallow him in a fog of hopelessness, of unbridled chaos and grief that had chased all the others away as well. Orrin scurried further into the obscurity of the distance passing the crouched Eragon wrecked with worry, the wild Brom dialling madly on his cell phone, the Cousin fluttering uneasily by the cluster of gothic headstones his eyes filled with his own panic. Orrin passed by the wary, sharpened gaze of Murtagh who was alone, shadowed behind the wall of a large sarcophagus that seemed to cave him in. A book lay absently at his feet. Some papers were loosely clutched in his hand, kept in grasp by a hair of pressure between his fingers. It was if he wanted them to fly freely from his hand into the wind; his own way of running away. But that was the difference between them all – everyone else had run away, even Nasuada – but even as Orrin caught his sharp blue gaze for a split hair of a second, he knew those were the eyes of a boy who was too tired of hiding away from the world.
The notion squeezed him tight in the chest, but it only made his feet patter faster towards the outside where the city lay beyond this meadow of death and stone in a plain of street lit asphalt and painted brick. And soon enough, the world faded from green grass and aching grief to the dark jarring noise of the city and he was free
for now.
-X-
Night had fallen in familiar silence, hushing the day into a troubled slumber. The cemetery seemed abandoned by all appearances and the grave of Ajihad Nightstalker had been filled by the grave diggers in the waning light of dusk. The graveyard was as still and sombre and the three of them where silent specters, waiting patiently...
For all they could do was wait for her.
Murtagh's eyes were a knife stabbing through the obscurity of the dark that had quickly swept across the graveyard. He stood away from them, settling to watch from the shy distance instead. He was the silent observer, watching minute by minute as they unravelled further thread by thread in her absence.
Brom looked the worse of the two. He was hunched over with a look of impotent agony burrowed in fine lines across his face which had somehow aged ten years in the space of a day. Eragon now sat beside him, perched upon a headstone, watching the freshly dug grave of Nasuada's father, waiting too. His face was twisted in worry, and yet somehow, by some miracle, he seemed untouched by the dark that crept still from the covered grave and into the crisp night air.
The dark had tainted everyone else there, chasing away the others who had not been accustomed to its icy bite, but trapping them here. They had become too apart of this, to dare leave the pain that it brought – for it seemed it was the only thing they knew any more.
Murtagh felt his breath grow cold as the minutes stretched on and the wind whispered hauntingly into his ear, reminding him of all he had read...all he did not understand.
. . .
"...What?...No, Morzan would've never hurt that boy. Officer, Sir, you've got that wrong. Morzan may have hated the boy's mother, but he loved his son."
"When he found out she was pregnant, I'd never seen him so...attentive...to Selena. It was almost scary. He'd be there, every minute, every hour, of every day by her side..."
"Selena revelled in it for the first few weeks, until she found it too much attention. With Morzan around, things changed rather abruptly. There were no secret glances at the gardener, or flighty rendezvous in the guest rooms near the den, no sneaking the hidden cigarettes under the kitchen pipes because Morzan was always there. And for the first time in a long time Selena looked all the more unhappy for it."
"At first I thought he was happy, he was so animated around the sight of her growing stomach, that I hardly noticed how he did not touch her; how his eyes did not shimmer any more like how they used to when he would go away on his secret trips; how he would lock himself away at night in the den...doing God knew what."
"I would wonder, why he refused the breakfast I'd send him in the mornings, or why he would seem so exhausted when he would emerge from the den in the late afternoon the next day with disheveled hair and bloodshot eyes...I wondered in silence until he left the door open one night."
"He was bent over the couch in a drunken heap of pathetic grief. Empty bottle of boozes lay abandoned on the carpet, a picture was snagged in his claw. I'd thought him asleep, only to have him turn to me, with tear stained cheeks and bloodshot eyes, blubbering sorrowfully. It was painful to watch my boy like that...for he was my boy...I had raised him after all.
He had loved her...this...woman who he did not speak of..
And he had lost her
as he gained his son.
And as his child grew in Selena's belly, Morzan mourned in secret, for his broken heart and the life he could have had. It changed him, he was sharper, harder, yet number than ever. He was broken.
But when little Murtagh was born, a small pink thing, I had never seen him more alive. He poured all the love that he had left in that baby. He'd begun to heal.
And I had hope for him, that perhaps, he could be happy after all...
No, he would never hurt his son, Sir. And I don't believe he did. Call me biased but I don't believe any of the things you're accusing him of."
. . .
Murtagh felt his chest heave as he watched his family from the distance, feeling even more isolated as Florence McElling's words washed over him once more from memory. He glanced away from the visage of his younger brother, grasping his stepfather by the shoulders and pulling him into a comforting hug, wondering if his own father had done the same once upon a time before in a different life, in a different place and time. His chest hurt, and he realized somehow that this was grief. His eyes rimmed with tears as he saw them hugging and he turned away unable to take the sight of it any more.
He turned away, right into the shadow of another.
It was fright that did not have him screech out in shock as he met a pair of swirling grey eyes piercing into him. The shock did not abate as recognition slapped Murtagh into a freeze.
Murtagh swallowed harshly as the eyes gradually shifted, glancing over high walls of the sarcophagus that he had taken shelter behind, before swimming towards a massive tombstone only a few yards away from him.
He had not seen him.
Murtagh felt a strange pounding in his chest, at this encounter. There were questions shooting through his mind, willing his body to stop, to have him call out after the grey haired man as he strode silently like a snake towards a shadowed figure standing by the giant tombstone crucifix.
Murtagh scuttled closer, eyes widening as he recognized the two figures who were now whispering to each other in the strained light of the moon.
Mr. Galbatorix Kingsman...
and ...Nasuada's cousin? Murtagh recognized the family resemblance.
His eyebrow's furrowed in confusion, yet the distinct feeling of apprehension sprouted in his gut as he saw the dark skinned man pull a brown parcel from the sleeve of his jacket and hand it over to Mr. Kingsman.
Their tones were low rumbles, caught up in the night wind and Murtagh could not hear them. He did however note the eerie smile carved into Fadawar's face as he stretched out an arm towards the older gentleman.
Murtagh's eyes narrowed.
Galbatorix merely looked Fadawar's arm and grunting something to him to which Fadawar brashly replied.
"You insult me, Mr. Kingsman, of course I dealt with the mother, she was a loose end."
"Good." he heard Galbatorix murmur. His tone was it's usual casual intonation. " goodbye, Mr. Hadarac."
The grey haired lawyer turned to walk away, but Fadawar suddenly stopped him with a grab to the shoulder.
"What do you mean goodbye?" he growled. "I gave you what you wanted, now, how do I know you'll deliver?"
It was the first time, Murtagh had seen any sort of emotion in the lawyer's face. His pit black eyes were stirred in a wrath even the angels would have been terrified of.
"You gave me, what you wanted, Mr. Hadarac." came the hiss. "do not forget, our arrangement, benefits us both, but will only destroy one of us, if things go sour. After all, murder isn't something easily forgiven by the Courts. And you have done it twice now." his words were razors in the flesh, but his eyes were worse. They were threat enough, to drive a panic stricken Fadawar back to his place. Galbatorix straightened himself, smoothing over the side of his coat where he had tucked the parcel.
" I will contact you when things are arranged." He consoled, his voice returning to its usual soothing tone.
He turned away from Fadawar, murmuring so lowly that Murtagh had almost missed it. "Or if I need you to take care of anyone else."
His figure faded from obscurity into the thick shadow of the night as if he had been but a ghost in the wind. And Fadawar was left alone, looking even more lost than he had felt under the pelting light of the moon.
Murtagh pressed against the cold stone of the sarcophagus, feeling the chill warm his icy blood. His heart was thundering in his chest like a frightened bird, and a deep dread stirred in his belly. He didn't know exactly what he had just heard, but he knew that it was terrible. His mind filled with the image of deep umber eyes and full dark lips and he felt the dread deepen in his blood, swirling into a panic.
He had the sudden urge. He could not explain why, but he knew now that he really needed to find Nasuada. . .fast.
Thank you all for reading this chapter.
Yes, Galbatorix and Fadawar are in deep and dirty in their evil together, but the question is, what exactly does this evil entail?
And Murder? Did we just hear right? Unfortunately you did. Fadawar is much more dangerous than you think, but then...so is Mr. Kingsman. Murtagh has no idea.
Do not worry, Murtagh is not shutting down from Eragon for those of you concerned. Please consider that the files that Galbatorix gave him are ripping away every preconception he had ever felt towards his father, so granted he'd want to be alone to process.
Please tell me your thoughts.
Stay tuned for the next one.