Hello, mah bbs. How are you tonight? Good, I hope? A quick note: this chapter has three different POVs, but settles into one for most of the story. :) Enjoy!
Disclaimer: I do not own Inheritance Cycle.
"Everything was black in the harbor, but there were still some fires burning on the ships." –Barney Ross
Chapter Thirty-five: The Lake of Mirrors
Murtagh was dreaming. He was walking along the lakeshore, side by side with Tornac, and he was smiling widely, happier than he could remember being.
"So I hear you're marrying your girl," Tornac said, smiling gently. "Good for you, lad. Good for you."
Murtagh nodded, blissfully happy. "Tomorrow," he said. "You'll be there, right?"
"Wouldn't miss it for anything, my boy," Tornac promised. "It's not every day my favorite student gets married, now is it?"
"Will Mother be there?"
"Oh, I'd imagine so. She's very excited, you know. Thought you were never going to work up the courage to ask Nasuada."
Murtagh's smile widened. "Eragon's holding the ceremony," he said.
"A Rider wedding, eh? Sounds wonderful, lad, sounds wonderful. And is that your blushing bride I see?"
Tornac pointed out onto the Lake and Murtagh shielded his eyes against the bright sun.
Nasuada stood out on the water, wearing a beautiful, flowing dress. Rubies glittered in her hair and around her neck and she waved, grinning.
"She's beautiful," Tornac said, walking out on the water to join her. Murtagh watched him go interestedly—how was he doing that?
Others joined Tornac and Nasuada out on the water. Selena, beautiful as always, Eragon and Saphira, Thorn, the rest of the Rider clan, even Raltin and Arya, a whole cluster of people that he loved, fiercely, and would do anything for.
They smiled at him, and then they sank.
Startled, Murtagh ran out to them, finding that he could easily stand on the water, for the surface was hard like glass. He reached the spot where they had fallen through and stared down.
They were reflected back at him, just underneath the water's hard surface, smiling and waving and reaching for him. Murtagh crouched, pressing his fingers to the water. It did not yield, but on the other side Nasuada pressed her fingers towards his, until they were separated only by the hard lake.
"Come," she mouthed. He could not hear her voice and suddenly he needed to. "Come."
He shoved against the smooth surface harder, seeking a hole, a flaw that he could break through.
"Come."
"I'm trying!" he shouted, pushing. He dropped down onto all fours, pressing, lying flat against the glass and shouting a spell to push him through, and at last he was sinking slowing through the barrier, his fingers brushing Nasuada's, the tip of his nose hitting icy water—
Arya was dreaming. She was walking across the still Lake of Mirrors on what seemed to be a sheet of ice—it was hard and cold, but she could see through it—and she shivered lightly in the wind.
"Here," Eragon said, throwing a cloak over her shoulders.
She turned, surprised, and he grinned at her.
"Better?"
Struck wordless, Arya could only nod. Eragon was there, walking beside her, and she wanted to reach out and touch him but he couldn't be real, he was dead—
"Thank you for saving me," Eragon said, still grinning.
"We—I saved you? We reached the Vault of Souls and brought you back?"
Eragon nodded, dark hair flopping. "You did," he told her. "And I can never thank you enough. You came for me. You didn't leave me there."
Arya stared, mesmerized. Had they really done it? Brought Eragon back from the dead? He was right there beside her, so they must've succeeded, and she couldn't stop a smile from breaking across her face.
They'd done it! They'd brought Eragon back from the Vault of Souls. He was alive again. He was with her again, and now everything would be okay.
"I would never leave you," she swore, and he nodded.
"I know."
There was a sharp crack behind her and Arya turned, startled. There was nothing, but when she turned back, Eragon was gone.
"Eragon?"
Arya looked down, below the smooth ice covering the water. Eragon was beneath it, blinking and smiling up at her, his hands pressed against the ice.
Arya dropped to her knees, trying to reach him. Her fingers dug into the ice but it would not yield to her. She pushed harder, determined, desperate to get at Eragon, and in the water she saw stirrings of others she had known:
Her mother, running to embrace her.
Faolin the elf, a Black Morning Glory outstretched.
Her father the Elf King, alive and whole.
Faolin the dragon, swimming towards her, his green eyes alight.
And Eragon, pressed against the ice, his body molded to hers but for the barrier between them.
Arya bared her teeth. She would not let anything come between them again.
"Jeirda!" she snapped, and the ice broke apart, and she started to sink—
Raltin was dreaming. He was flying high above the Lake of Mirrors, feeling the cold wind slip around him, and Talon hummed, at peace for once.
Below him the Lake spread out smooth and wild, reflecting his image up at him. He liked the look of himself and Talon in the water, proud, strong, powerful.
They were dragon and Rider. Mighty, fearless, revered and feared by all who beheld them. They had respect. They had courage. They had strong hearts full of righteous fury and the will to crush their enemies.
Talon drifted lower and Raltin leaned over his dragon's side, peering curiously into the depths of the Lake. In it he saw himself astride Talon, dressed richly like a King, and the other Riders, Erik, Sunna, Vé, even Arya, followed him adoringly. He was their leader, the strongest, the most respected, and from his hand dangled the head of Galbatorix—
"I would not do that, if I were you," said a new, powerful voice, drifting across the Lake.
Raltin froze and realized that he'd just been about to jump from Talon's back into the water and that beautiful dream. He frowned, looking around. "Hello?
"Over here, young Rider."
On the lakeshore stood a tall, richly dressed man, and he waved to Raltin.
Raltin blinked, and then he was no longer on his dragon's back, he was only a few feet away from the newcomer. "Who are you?" he asked, more curious than angry.
"A friend," the man assured him. His dark eyes glittered and his teeth flashed, bright against his rich brown skin.
"Why'd you tell me to stop?"
The man smiled. "It seemed like the right thing to do at the time. Your friends have already fallen under its spell."
"My friends?"
"The other two Riders," the man explained. "They're not as clever as you, it would seem. You might want to wake up now and save them, or they'll die…"
"Wait!" Raltin shouted, for his new friend was already starting to disappear. "Who are you?"
"Don't worry!" the man called back, fading faster and faster until he was a pair of dark eyes and bright teeth. "I will meet you again, my friend!"
And then he was gone and Raltin stumbled towards the Lake, shaking, feeling himself start to wake up—
As he peered into the still water, he saw, for a split second, a pair of pale, lightning-bright eyes flashing in the depths, and his body jerked—
Raltin came awake suddenly, kicking out and falling backwards. He sat down hard, scrambling back to get out of the icy lakewater, slipping in the smooth sand.
He could barely breathe. The Lake of Mirrors smelled like roses and ice, seeping under his skin, and he struggled to his feet. Water pooled around his ankles.
Raltin? Talon murmured, groggy. He was back at the campsite, stumbling to his own feet, shaking his head and trying to fight off the heavy sleep that had overtaken him. The other dragons were with him, but Murtagh and Arya were not.
Raltin looked out onto the Lake and sure enough there they were, sinking slowly, still lost in their dreams.
The whole surface of the Lake seemed to shimmer, glowing faintly, and Raltin frowned.
Murtagh! He called. Arya!
Neither Rider turned towards him and Raltin swore, running a hand through his soaked hair. They sank slowly, steadily, the gleaming water wrapping around their bodies. He knew they were asleep, dreaming like he'd been dreaming.
Talon! I can't get them myself!
His dragon staggered to his feet, clumsily shoving off. Raltin swore again, pacing on the lakeshore. He should help them. No one—not even Morzan's son—deserved to drown in a lake. Raltin reached out with magic, shouting the words to lift the two Riders from the water.
The Lake of Mirrors pulsed, light flaring up, and Raltin screamed, abandoning the spell and clutching his head. Pain exploded behind his eyes and cold air tore at his lungs, driving him to his knees.
The water was frigid, seeping into his clothes and he shook, fighting to rise from the haze of pain. He tried to lift the Riders again, and again he howled, driven away by pain and cold.
The center of the Lake, where the light shone the brightest, flashed again, and icy wind shrieked towards him.
The Lake is alive!
I'm coming, Talon cried, and Raltin heard the wingbeats coming closer. Relieved, he used a spell to propel his own body into the air, out of the flashing, freezing Lake.
Talon caught him and within moments Raltin was safe on his dragon's back. The wind whipped harmlessly below him and the light dimmed again.
Talon, the Lake of Mirrors is alive, Raltin said. Or enchanted, or possessed, or something.
I was asleep, and I couldn't wake up, Talon murmured, flying in tight loops. I think it's enchanted. Below, Murtagh and Arya were still slowly sinking, up to their elbows in water. Raltin wondered why they didn't just sink and why the freezing water didn't wake them up, but he chalked it up to the enchantments.
The center of the Lake flared, pulsing almost like a heartbeat, and Talon flew a little higher.
We have to save them, Raltin said.
Are you sure?
Raltin sighed. He could die, fighting this Lake. It was evil, he could feel it in his bones, but he could not just let two people drown, or fall into whatever the enchantment was. He could not condemn them to death.
Besides, during these last few weeks of travel he'd grown strangely… tolerant of the red and green Riders. He enjoyed their company, and didn't want to make the long journey home alone.
Murtagh was still an obnoxious, emotionless prick, though.
Yes, he said firmly. I'm sure.
How did you break the enchantment?
How did you?
You called me, the dark dragon rumbled. I heard you calling to me, and you brought me from my dream.
Raltin nodded. I think… I think someone called out to me too. I could not see him, but I heard his voice, and he told me to wake. He broke the spell.
So we just have to reach them, Talon said thoughtfully. I'll try Thorn and the little one.
Raltin agreed and closed his eyes, gathering up all of his strength. He knew from rumor that Murtagh's mind was especially difficult to break into, but he had no other option, except for letting the man drown.
He took a deep breath, and dove in.
He found Arya's mind first, a smooth, sturdy nub of consciousness shrouded in mist. He pushed hard, filling his mind with images of steel, battering away at her defenses. The Lake light surged, almost blinding in its intensity, but Raltin ignored it. The wind roared but he was too high above; the Lake could not reach him up here.
Finally, Arya's mental walls gave way and Raltin was in, connected to her mind. The connection pulsed sluggishly, dimly, like it was half underwater.
Arya! Raltin shouted. Arya Shadeslayer!
She did not respond, and Raltin pushed on, through memories and feelings and whirling fog until he reached the center of her mind, where a picture of the Lake gleamed. The water was covered in a hard, clear surface and just below it waited Eragon Shadeslayer, a smile on his face. Arya wanted him, wanted to get to him, and so she bore down on the clear surface, pushing harder and harder—
Arya! This isn't real! It's an enchantment!
Fuzzy confusion filtered through the link and the elf seemed to look up, turning away from the Lake.
ARYA!
Raltin felt her come back, waking from the enchantment. She started violently, her mind suddenly blazing to life, and he was thrown out harshly into his own mind.
Below, Arya began to howl, realizing what was happening, feeling the icy water sap at her strength.
The center of the Lake glowed and more wind tore across the surface—not disturbing the perfectly still water, which was just creepy—and the elf screamed out again, clearly in pain.
Raltin reached out to help her but, with more strength than he thought possible, she fired off a spell that shot her straight out of the cold water, sending her skidding onto the shore.
He breathed a sigh of relief and heard Faolin's waking roars. One down, one to go.
He turned his power onto Murtagh, hurling himself against the elder Rider's mind with all his might. The red Rider's mind was hard as steel, protected, but Raltin was fiercely determined and tore at it, ripping away chucks of protective memory.
He felt Arya's mind, brightly burning, join his and together they hacked at Murtagh's defenses, cutting through and finally, finally breaking the barrier.
Murtagh's mind was much like Arya's, murky, dim as if submerged. He was sinking faster and Raltin and Arya hurried to the center where he would be dreaming the spell's dream.
Murtagh! Arya called, and then, quite on his own, Murtagh woke up.
There was a brief, terrifying moment where all was silent, and the Murtagh roared, shoving them so hard that Raltin snapped back into his body. He opened his eyes.
The Lake was blinding.
Cold white light spilled from the center and wind screamed, spreading ice in all directions. Raltin saw a single, thin white crack spread in the surface—the Lake was covered in ice, or something, most of it anyway—quickly, all the way to Murtagh, and then the ice-mirror broke.
It broke cleanly, suddenly, with awful force, right above where Murtagh knelt, submerged up to his arms. The red Rider had time for one last shocked roar, and then he plunged through the broken Lake, down into the glowing depths.
Damn! Raltin swore. Damn, damn damn! Arya!
I cannot reach him, the elf said, shocked, angry, and a little shaken. He is being blocked from me.
It's the Lake, Raltin said. It's enchanted, or alive, or—
Possessed, Talon rumbled. His dark eyes flashed. There is a spirit in this Lake, and somehow we have provoked it.
Provoked it, Raltin thought, wracking his brains. They had done nothing to provoke the spirits of the land—they'd even befriended some, earlier on in their journey, and had left feeling blessed—
No time! Talon roared. Think about it later. Murtagh will drown.
Raltin swore again. His dragon was right. Murtagh would drown if they didn't get him free. He reached down with magic, probing the Lake of Mirrors, but he could not feel Murtagh; the man was sinking too fast, blocked by enchantment.
Damn it, Raltin thought, and then before he had time to change his mind, swung his legs over Talon's back and leaped into the water, screaming a spell to break up the ice-mirror.
He hit the water and wanted to scream. Cold plunged inside him, all the way to his bones, stabbing and slashing so violently that he thought he was going to die.
Murtagh! He screamed, tearing through the water. He used magic to push himself deeper, searching the lit-up Lake for the older Rider—
There!
Murtagh drifted down below the indigo Rider, limp and unmoving his eyes were closed and precious air slid from his mouth.
Frantically Raltin struggled to reach him, desperate to escape the cold. He grabbed on to Murtagh's shoulder, fingers stiff, and pulled with all his strength, trying to drag the man upwards.
Water sucked them down, and Raltin's struggles slowed.
I can't escape, he thought, despair settling into his heart next to the cold. I can't… I can't…
Raltin's vision grayed at the edges and for a moment he saw his dream; himself victorious, triumphant, adored by all, the King-killer, the Rider's leader. He wanted it, and he thought that maybe it was better to die…
Yes, whispered a cold, high voice. Yes, join us here in the Lake of Mirrors. Come rest with us until the end of time. Come bathe in your dreams, come live among the dead… Come, come…
And Raltin saw, as he died, the bottom of the Lake of Mirrors. It was covered in corpses. The bodies of men, women, elves, animals, fish, birds, trees, and flowers rested at the bottom of the Lake, frost covering their skin.
Come… the high, cold voice whispered. Come join us here where the world is not pain, only stillness, only your dreams… Come, come…
Raltin's heart slowed in his chest and he almost let go of Murtagh, entranced by the voice and the bodies and the cold seeping into his chest. It would be nice to rest… To be at peace forever…
Yes, come…
And Raltin closed his eyes. In that split second he saw his family, their village, everyone he had loved, and they shook their heads at him. They were disappointed.
Wait, he thought, fighting the sleepy cold. How will I achieve my dream if I die here? I won't! I won't stay!
The cold grew, stabbing straight at his chest, but Raltin opened his eyes anyway, digging deep into his anger, his pain, his love for his family. In the illuminated water, he saw two pairs of eyes and a set of long, slender teeth, decayed hands clawing at him, a horrible, sucking wail rising from the depths.
I will not stay here!
The Lake pulled and Murtagh nearly slipped from his grasp.
No! Raltin shouted at the spirit—for that's what the slender-fanged thing was, the Lake spirit—angrily. You cannot have him! If anyone is going to kill Murtagh Morzansson, it will be me!
In his grasp Murtagh stirred, and Raltin saw his blue eyes open. The red Rider stared that the indigo Rider, and grabbed his hand.
At once Raltin felt magic pool between them, bright and hot. The water around them began to warm, reacting to them, boiling and bubbling. The spirit clawed at them but its claws were made of ice, and could not stand the heat.
It seemed to roar, furious, and then dove away as the water grew warm, back down to the still, frozen bodies. Its power waned, and Raltin could feel Murtagh's mind again.
Rise, Murtagh said.
Rise, Raltin said, and they cast their power together, heat surging, pushing them up—
They broke out, surging up through the shattered ice, soaring to land in the shallow water where they scrambled to the shore.
Murtagh didn't say anything and Raltin only lay on the shore, panting, shaking so violently he thought surely he was about to die.
Very good, said the voice that had woken him from his dream. Very, very good, my young friend.
Some more notes:
1) Think of the Lake of Mirrors like a particularly dark version of the Mirror of Erised. It shows you what you want most, and then it, well, tries to kill you.
2) Raltin is still kind of a dark horse in all that's going on around him. He knows what he wants, he just isn't sure of the best way to get it yet. Just because he saved Murtagh and Arya does not mean he is a good man, and just because he wants to kill Murtagh does not mean he is a bad man.
3) The spirit of the Lake is sort of a Dementor/wraith (from Supernatural) crossover, and it amuses itself by showing all who happen past what they desire most. Most go mad from the desire and either a) kill everyone in the way, b) committ suicide, or c) jump into the lake and join the Frozen Ones down below.
Thanks for reading! If you have any questions, let me know!
~WSS