(A/N) Okay, a few things. FIRSTLY map is like 75% done. I will be posting it on the Tower of Magi page on facebook either tonight or tomorrow. SECONDLY, if any of you wanted to read my book Primary Bloodline for free, it is on my website which is found in my profile info. FOR ANY OF YOU who have downloaded and and were turned off by the ghetto format, have no fear! It is now available in PDF format so you can download it again. And in light of the question if I'm going to make a new thread or not . . . I've decided on a compromise. I will be doing four books instead of three. So this Eldest won't be nearly as long. Unfortunately, that means I'll have to play around with my notes and I'm pretty sure two of the major battles I was building up to in Eldest will have to wait until Brisingr :/. I'm sorry guys, but I want to please everyone. Regardless, enjoy this fresh new chapter.
-ELDEST CHAPTER TEN-
Killian stood on the coast of the New World. Palm trees wavered gently, pushed by the calming breeze that flew over the sea. Scattered about the sandy beach were bits of wood, freshly killed bodies, and various strange instruments that Killian had no idea what they were. Further down, at the edge of the tropical jungle that hugged the land, a massive dragon skeleton sat. Bony wings curled around the boy called Rem, while a sloping skull slowly splintered and fell; heavy shards sending quiet plumes of smoke into the air as they touched the sandy ground.
"What happened to him?" Barnacle shook visibly, a pitiful dagger in his hand. Killian looked at the dwarf contemptuously, and then took tentative steps towards the steaming bones. They had come in contact with the dwarves that lived here, who attacked them with floating machines that spat giant balls of flame, vaporizing flesh and turning portions of the large beach into long stretches of glass. The smell of skin was still thick in the air, Killian having to do all that he could so he did not retch from inside his mask. The man climbed over round dunes and passed a crunchy field of half burned sand, until he came to the former dragon's corpse. Killian did not know if the beast had ever truly even been alive, but all of its meaty parts had been absorbed into the young boy when he ran onto the shore the minutes their rowboats touched the edge of land. Now, however, within the serrated white tomb, Killian could not see anything.
"Rem?" He called, peering forward on the soles of his feet, raising his chained sickle. A black hand rose from the darkness, curling around a thick rib, and pulling itself forward. Killian saw a man, not a boy, with a head that bore overflowing red hair. Eyes, one yellow, one red, regarded Killian with dim recognition.
"Captain." Rem said softly as he pulled himself free of the bone prison. The Beyonder landed onto the beach on two long legs, stretching out the trousers that the boy Rem had worn. His hair reached the sides of his waist, while a pale white arm hung from a black shoulder.
"What happened to you?" Killian asked, raising his weapon.
"I don't know. The body . . . it joined with mine. I have memories, now. Memories I don't recall living. I can't make sense of any of them." Rem answered, his voice eerily deep. Killian regarded the dragon bones once more. Slowly crumbling, they reminded him of his own beast. But it seems that Killian had found something much more powerful than a juvenile dragon. He would use Rem, and then he would kill the creature, whatever it was, before it became more dangerous than it already was.
(Line Break)
"You must calm yourself." Cambion urged as Eragon paced in their quarters. The queen had at least given them a large room, big enough for Cambion, Orik, and Elonubum. Saphira was allowed to roam throughout the entire garden of the palace, a vast area that was more akin to a forest than a place for flowers.
"How can I be calm?" Eragon turned, giving Cambion a bitter half-smile.
"Oromis was my only hope. Our only hope." Eragon finished, holding his hands before his face.
"Do your spirits know what Ceryani are?"
Cambion lowered his head.
"We do." He said solemnly. Prince Orik grunted from where he was seated, reclining on one of the large beds that lined their quarters. To the far left, a large balcony was left to them, and the morning sun sprinkled light into their dim room.
"Tell me. Please." Eragon begged. Cambion nodded, drawing in a heavy breath.
"Ceryani were a race of near-men, as Oromis said. They lived in the Far East, though no one knows where they came from. They possessed great skill in magic, although many were no different from regular humans. Those that had magical ability were called Mergoi. These few were so powerful than a handful of them could have easily destroyed The Riders single-handedly. But the Mergoi were a minority among their native Ceryani. A Mergoi would often lead a tribe of Ceryani, and they often raided Elven lands. Again, as Oromis said, the Mergoi were hunted to near extinction, while the Ceryani were assimilated when they fled west. However . . . "
"There are living Ceryani with . . . Mergoi blood. Like me. And my Father."
"Yes." Cambion answered silently.
"And do you know who his father is?" Prince Orik blurted. Eragon turned his gaze to Cambion, who looked at him with those haunting eyes of his.
"No." He said with finality. Just then, the door to their chambers opened. They all turned to find Arya striding into meet them. A scowl was written over her face, and she wore a black night gown that went from her neck all the way to the bend of her knees. She wore no slippers, and her naked feet slapped against the marble floor of Eragon's chamber.
"My uncle is a fool." She said angrily.
"You must know why he rejected me. What is wrong with me?" Eragon begged. A spasm of pain from the spirit inside him caused Eragon to clutch his stomach, falling to his knees as the misery spread throughout his body. Sweat beaded at his forehead while hair veiled his grim face from view.
"I . . . I do not know. Perhaps it has to do with The Spirit." Arya said a little too quickly. Eragon raised his eyes to see her standing over him. She helped him up, and Eragon eyed Cambion, confusion pouring from his eyes.
"You could not stop it?" Eragon asked.
"I could not. Like I said before, it seems to dislike Elves. And my words of calming are losing effect." Cambion bowed his head once more.
"You need to be strong, Eragon. Oromis will not train you, but we will. Our armies are the best in the Empire. Young Elves from high-ranking houses learn here, in Gillendel. The martial Headmaster has agreed to improve your skill with the blade and with various spells." Arya assured.
"But it is not enough. I needed to learn from a real Rider. One that could help Saphira and I deepen our connection. Now-" Eragon stopped as another shockwave of pain shuddered through him. He gasped as all the breath left his lungs, and for a few moments could do nothing but breathe heavily, regaining his breath.
"Brom is gone. Or Caomhim. Whatever he was. He lied to me." Eragon rasped.
"My mother has told me he has been sent to kill my eldest sister." Arya informed.
"You have a sister?" Eragon said, shocked.
"We do not call her by name. She is known as Suhureliel Omshurtag. Witch-Sear. She is the one who destroyed the land we crossed."
Eragon remembered the gray fields filled with nothing but crumbling brick buildings and mummified corpses. He shivered at the image.
"I came to tell you that Brom has left. I do not know when he will return, Eragon." Arya spoke softly, almost reassuring.
"I will train you as well. I am not near as skilled as Oromis is, but I can teach you deeper things of magic. As a Valbhorethlian, I have access to various scrolls that contain power and long forgotten spells."
Eragon nodded his head weakly, his mind filling with despair.
"But for now, let is make our way to the training grounds. Prince Orik, Cambion, come with us as well." Arya commanded. Orik rose from his seat and Cambion slinked towards her, and together they all left the massive room, while Eragon's mind dwelt on darker tidings.
Oromis said I would die if he did not train me. What does that mean?
The Spirit began to whisper in that strange tongue again, and Eragon attempted to shut the noise out. It persisted, increased in potency, until it was the only thing he heard. Slowly, the words began to sound more and more like the language he understood. The Spirit said one thing.
Death. Death. Death. It repeated the chant, a beating drum foreshadowing the fiery annihilation that awaited them all.