A/N Sorry this took so long, I had writer's block for a while now and I wasn't quite sure what I was going to write for this chapter.
Percy's pov
I watched as a large group of people walked toward the base of Helgrind, many of them appeared to be missing limbs, one person who was being carried on a litter, appeared to have no limbs at all.
"The priests of Helgrind," Eragon explained.
"Can they use magic?" Roran asked,
"Possibly. I dare not explore Helgrind with my mind until they leave, for if anyare magicians, they will sense my touch, however light, and our presence will be revealed."
Behind the priests trudged a double line of young men swathed in gold cloth. Each carried a rectangular metal frame subdivided by twelve horizontal crossbars from which hung iron bells. Half of the young men shook their frames when they stepped forward with their right foot, producing depressing sounding notes, while the other half shook their frames when they advanced upon the left foot, causing a mournful racket that echoed over the hills. The boys accompanied the throbbing of the bells with their own cries, groaning and shouting in an ecstasy of passion
At the rear of the grotesque procession appeared to be a large group of inhabitants from Dras-Leona. They stopped at the edge of the steep mound of scree that ringed Helgrind, the priests gathered on either side of a rust colored boulder with a polished top. When the entire column stood motionless before the crude altar, the creature upon the litter stirred and began to chant in a voice as discordant as the moaning of the bells. The Priest's declamations were repeatedly interrupted by gusts of wind, and even when it wasn't I found it difficult to understand anything that was being said. the few words I did catch I didn't always recognize. a few sounded like the ancient language—strangely twisted and mispronounced— along with other words I didn't recognize that I thought could be either dwarf or Urgal words. I also caught a few words that sounded like old English. What I did understand gave me the impression that they weren't talking about sunshine and rainbows.
At the end of that screwed up sermon, two of the lesser priests rushed forward and lifted their leader off the litter and onto the face of the altar. Then the High Priest issued a brief order. Twin blades of steel winked like stars as they rose and fell. A small stream of blood sprayed from each of the High Priest's shoulders, flowed down the leather encased torso, and then pooled across the boulder until it overflowed onto the gravel below. Two more priests jumped forward to catch the crimson flow in goblets that, when filled to the rim, were distributed among the members of the congregation, who eagerly drank.
"Gar!" said Roran in an undertone. "You failed to mention that those errant flesh-mongers, those gore-bellied, boggle-minded idiot worshipers were cannibals."
"Not quite. They do not partake of the meat." Eragon replied.
I replied, "Maybe not, but even the ancient Greeks and Romans from my homeland weren't this bad, the worst they ever did was sacrifice animals to their gods. They didn't chop off their own limbs and drink blood for their gods,"
I noticed Eragon frown when I mentioned animal sacrifice, but he didn't comment. I could tell Roran looked slightly bothered as well, although not as much as Eragon. I decided to explain further, "Although they believed in the same gods I do, we don't really honour the gods in the same ways they did. we still sacrifice to them, we just give them a little of our own meal or other things of value. the ancient Greeks and Romans lived hundreds of years ago," They nodded in understanding and we continued to watch the priests and their messed up rituals. For a while The head priest just talked and I couldn't even hear that much of it, eventually though I saw those who listened take out a small, curved knife and, one by one, cut themselves in the crook of their elbows and anoint the altar with a stream of their blood.
Nothing else happened for a while as the priest spoke again, but I eventually heard him say, "Our worship is complete. However, if any now stand among you who are brave enough to demonstrate the true depth of their faith, let them show themselves!"
When I heard those words I suspected something messed up was going to happen, and I was right, The audience stiffened and leaned forward, their faces rapt; this, apparently, was what they had been waiting for.
For a long, silent pause, it seemed as if they would be disappointed, but then one of the acolytes broke ranks and shouted, "I will!" With a roar of delight, his brethren began to brandish their bells in a quick and savage beat, whipping the congregation into such a frenzy, they jumped and yelled as if they had taken leave of their senses.
Shedding his gold robes so that he wore nothing but a leather breechcloth, the dark-haired youth sprang on top of the altar. Gouts of ruby spray erupted on either side of his feet. He faced Helgrind and began to shiver and quake as if stricken with palsy, keeping time with the tolling of the cruel iron bells. His head rolled loosely upon his neck, foam gathered at the corners of his mouth, his arms thrashed like snakes. Sweat oiled his muscles until he gleamed like a bronze statue in the dying light.
The bells soon reached a manic tempo where one note clashed against another, at which point the young man thrust a hand out behind himself. Into it, a priest deposited the hilt of a bizarre implement: a single-edged weapon, two and a half feet long, with a full tang, scale grips, a vestigial crossguard, and a broad, flat blade that widened and was scalloped near the end, a shape reminiscent of a dragon wing. It was a tool designed for but one purpose: to hack through armor and bones and sinew as easily as through a bulging waterskin.
The young man lifted the weapon so that it slanted toward the highest peak of Helgrind. I already suspected what he was going to do, but my guess was confirmed when he dropped to one knee and, with an incoherent cry, brought the blade down across his right wrist. Blood sprayed the rocks behind the altar.
I winced and grimaced. I noticed that Eragon winced and looked away., although he could not escape the boy's piercing screams. Of course I had seen worse things happen during battles, but this was different. It just seemed wrong to deliberately mutilate yourself when it was so easy to become disfigured in everyday life. the whole scene had made me think of a cult, and that obviously wasn't a cheery thought.
While a priest tended to the young man's wound—stanching the bleeding with a spell—an acolyte let loose two slaves from the High Priest's litter, only to chain them by the ankles to an iron loop embedded in the altar. Then the acolytes divested themselves of numerous packages from underneath their robes and piled them on the ground, out of reach of the slaves.
Now that their ceremony had ended, the priests and their congregation departed Helgrind for Dras-Leona, wailing and ringing the entire way. The now one-handed zealot stumbled along just behind the High Priest. A beatific smile graced his face.
"Well," said Eragon, and released his pent-up breath as the column vanished behind a distant hill.
"Well what?"
"I've traveled among both dwarves and elves, and nothing they did was ever as strange as what those people, those humans, do."
I replied, "I've seen a lot of bad things over the years, but I haven't seen people do anything quite like that,"
"They're as monstrous as the Ra'zac." Roran added before jerking his chin toward Helgrind. "Can you find out now if Katrina is in there?"
"I'll try. But be ready to run." Eragon replied.
Eragon closed his eyes, and I knew he was trying to find out if Katrina and the Ra'zac were in Helgrind.
Roran and I waited impatiently as he searched, , Roran was watching him with the expression of a starving wolf. His gray eyes burned with a mixture of anger, hope, and despair that was so great, it seemed as if his emotions might burst forth and incinerate everything in sight in a blaze of unimaginable intensity, melting the very rocks themselves.
I understood why since Katrina's father, the butcher Sloan, had betrayed Roran to the Ra'zac. When they failed to capture him, the Ra'zac had instead taken Katrina from Roran's bedroom and although I had come close to saving her at one point the two creatures got the better of me and spirited her away from Palancar Valley, leaving the inhabitants of Carvahall to be killed and enslaved by King Galbatorix's soldiers. Unable to pursue Katrina, Roran had—just in time—convinced the villagers to abandon their homes and to follow him across the Spine and then south along the coast of Alagaësia, where they joined forces with the rebel Varden. The hardships they endured as a result had been many and terrible. But circuitous as it was, that course had reunited Roran with Eragon, who knew the location of the Ra'zac's den and had promised to help save Katrina.
I had also insisted on going because I had promised to help Roran and also because I had failed to save her the last time. It had taken a lot of convincing to get Nasuada to let us all go, but Saphira and Ágrios had managed to convince her.
Roran believed that he had only succeeded because the strength of his passion drove him to extremes that others feared and avoided, and thus allowed him to confound his enemies.
because of that, I could relate to him since I would do basically anything to protect the people I care about and now I consider Roran part of that group. I knew I wouldn't be able to stand it if I had let Eragon and Roran go on this mission without me and then Roran possibly dying because of it. No, I had to go.
When Eragon returned to himself he said, "I think I felt her, It's hard to be certain, because we're so far from Helgrind and I've never touched her mind before, but I think she's in that forsaken peak, concealed somewhere near the very top."
"Is she sick? Is she injured? Blast it, Eragon, don't hide it from me: have they hurt her?"
"She's in no pain at the moment. More than that, I cannot say, for it required all my strength just to make out the glow of her consciousness; I could not communicate with her. What I didn't find were the Ra'zac or the Lethrblaka. Even if I somehow overlooked the Ra'zac, their parents are so large, their life force should blaze like a thousand lanterns, even as Saphira's does. Aside from Katrina and a few other dim specks of light, Helgrind is black, black, black."
Roran scowled, clenched his left fist, and glared at the mountain of rock, which was fading into the dusk as purple shadows enveloped it. In a low, flat voice, as if talking with himself, he said, "It doesn't matter whether you are right or wrong."
"How so?"
"We will not attack tonight; night is when the Ra'zac are strongest, and if they are nearby, it would be stupid to fight them when we're at a disadvantage. Agreed?"
"Yes."
I also agreed since even though there were three of us along with Saphira and Ágrios it would still be better to attack when we have a higher chance of succeeding.
"So, we wait for the dawn." Roran gestured toward the slaves chained to the gory altar. "If those poor wretches are gone by then, we know the Ra'zac are here, and we proceed as planned. If not, we curse our bad luck that they escaped us, free the slaves, rescue Katrina, and fly back to the Varden with her before Murtagh hunts us down. Either way, I doubt the Ra'zac will leave Katrina unattended for long, not if Galbatorix wants her to survive so he can use her as a tool against me."
Eragon and I nodded. I would have preferred to release the slaves now, but doing so could warn our enemies that something was amiss. Nor, if the Ra'zac came to collect their dinner, could we interfere before the slaves were ferried away. A battle in the open between a dragon and creatures such as the Lethrblaka would attract the attention of every man, woman, and child for leagues around. We doubted we could survive if Galbatorix learned we were alone in his empire. Sure Eragon and I were powerful, and along with Roran and our dragons we might stand a chance against whatever the king might throw at us but it would be better not to find out.
I looked away from the shackled men. I think we were all hoping for their sake, that the Ra'zac are on the other side of Alagaësia or, at least, that the Ra'zac aren't hungry tonight .
By unspoken consent, We crawled backward down from the crest of the low hill we were hiding behind. At the bottom,we rose into a half crouch, then turned and, still doubled over, ran between two rows of hills. The shallow depression gradually deepened into a narrow, flood-carved gully lined with crumbling slabs of shale.
Dodging the gnarled juniper trees that dotted the gully, I concentrated on maintaining my footing as we headed south toward our camp.
A/N Part 2 I know not that much happened in this chapter, but the next couple chapters should be more interesting.
