Edited 1/22/22 - all chapters are getting a overhaul. Things might not match until this process is complete.
This chapter was inspired by tales my mother told me about her childhood.

I do not the Inheritance Cycle


The Forgotten Cabin

Rose did not look up from her book when a loud 'twack!' echoed throughout the hollow cabin. She jolted, her heart beating suddenly very fast, but settled onto the blankets she had piled up moments before. If she could not have a chair than a cushion of blankets would have to do.

After a moment of silence, she sighed and looked up. Tornac was kneeling in from of the hearth, his back to her, as he coaxed a fire. He had been doing this for some time, and after the tinderbox broke, Rose decided that it was best that she took to reading instead of trying to help. When she did not assist him, he usually seemed to have more luck.

Tornac coughed loudly and struck the stones thrice more, and on the third time instead of striking again the man leaned forth and blew on the tinder until the tiny licks of fire grew higher. Rose looked up as a soft warm glow, as Tornac sat back on his heels for a short moment before standing and putting on more kindling. Rose then watched him silently as he made his way to his bags and dug through them, he pulled out the cooking ware and disappearing outside. He was gone for only a moment before returning with a pot filled with snow. He placed it next to the flames and then turned to her, his pale eyes were unreadable.

"I cannot say that I am pleased with Ailis' choice to leave," Tornac said. "It seems to me it was made with haste and only misfortune will come from it."

Rose nodded but said nothing.

"I think that it would do us well to rest a few days. There is a chill in my bones I have never felt before," said Tornac and then he was silent a time, and when she glanced at him, Rose found that he was studying her. "What is a matter, my girl?"

Rose narrowed her eyes at the old swordmaster. "Should any tribulation happen to you and Ailis, what would be become of me? It is wished that I meander across the wilderness until the end of my days and idly pray that some mysterious force shall guide me and the remaining dragon egg to safety? Whether that be back to Galbatorix or the Varden. Surely both would be less than pleased to discover Morzan's daughter with their precious dragon egg. Ought I not know what is to be done should this happen as you do?"

"Ailis is precautious." Tornac scratched his forehead. "You are referring to the fact that if Ailis were to disappear and, gods forbid, myself, of course," he said calmly. "Well, if Ailis were to pass into the Void or vanish, I would tell you much of what she has told me. I would guide you to the road instead of wondering this wildland as Ailis has taken to. I would teach you whatever I might before the Void took me as well and if this were to happen, and I pray it shall not, I would not depart from you unprepared. Nay, Rose, I could not do such."

Rose twisted her fingers together and glowered at the ground. Tornac's answer covered little of her qualms. "If both you and Ailis were to leave at once," she began, however Tornac interpreted.

"If is a futile word, created only to trouble the minds both young and old. Cast the word from your wits. I understand your concern, yet is hopeless to ponder over it, and will leave you with endless worry. I will ask that Ailis tells you as she told me," said Tornac. He was silent for a short time, then as is deciding on something he stood up and slid his sword from its scabbard. "Come now, we must not misuse this time we have been granted with."

Rose was given scarcely enough time to stand and rise her blade in defense before Tornac's assault. His swings were more firm and dexterous that night, leaving her with trembling limbs and struggling, as she had weeks ago, to keep a grip on the hilt of her sword. For well over an hour Rose braced herself as best she could against his beset. Both Tornac and Rose were frequently blinded by the shining blades flashing gaily in the glow of the fire light for brief moments before they collided together with a vibrating cling!

Only when the sun met the earth so that its amiable rays of light could glitter about the snow, much like fine diamonds, did Tornac call for them to halt. Rose sheathed her sword clumsily as her hands were shaking turbulently and pressed her palms against her knees to steady them.

"Better," Tornac commented between deep breathes. "You've improved significantly however you lack vigor and balance."

Rose breathlessly looked up at him, annoyance evident in her features. A droplet of brackish sweat stung her eyes and thick strings of hair stuck to her damp face. She tucked behind her ears and sat down promptly, becoming vaguely lightheaded in her haste. "That's splendid," she growled crossly, "perhaps now I'm capable of guarding myself against a rat."

Tornac unhurriedly wiped his blade clean with a rag before placing it in back in his scabbard. "Perhaps," he said.

Rose scowled at him before turning away. She leaned over to her bags and dug through them before taking to her book once more, heeding little mind to Tornac's doings. After a time, she couldn't help but hear the loud thumps his boots hitting the ground as he walked back and forth across the cabin clicking and clinging of metal against metal; the crackling of fire as it was fueled and the shutting of a rickety door and his retreating thumps that faded into silence. Rose focused again on the pages until she heard Tornac return and cross the earthen floor of the cabin with the sloshing sound of water in a bucket before setting up the cooking ware.

Not long after the cook ware was set up Tornac took a seat not far from where Rose sat. He then began to dig through his bags, pulling out varies objects and placed them in front of him. He counted his belongings in hissing whispers before repacking them. When a bubbling of a rolling boil could be heard Tornac got up to care the dark grey pot.

Rose continued in her reading until she saw a pair of dirtied black boots in front of her. As she glanced up, Tornac bent down and placed a wooden cup filled with sweet smelling tea next to her leg. She murmured her thanks and looked back down at the pages of her book.

"When was the last time you played?" Tornac asked unexpectedly, when the steam had ceased billowing from the cups. "If I'm correct in my memory you pledged a ballad to me."

"I don't recall promising to sing to you, Tornac," Rose said without looking up.

"I should pray not. I don't believe my ears could cope with such a noise," Tornac said in jest. "Yet you promised me a song."

Rose looked up and set her book aside, this was a trick which she knew all too well. Tornac would continually request her make music with her viol back in Urû'baen knowing that she would quickly forget her troubles in her work. It had worked for years until she understood his intentions but even then she indulged him.

"You are a relentless old man," Rose grumbled marking her page with a length of cord as she stood up. She walked over to where a small pile of her bags were and unwrapped the smooth wooden instrument from the soft cloths of the case. Then she made way her over to Tornac, her footsteps loud on the hard ground, and sat down beside him. With her bowed viol across her lap she spent a long minute plucking at and tuning five of the seven fine, crisp strings until content with the tone. Rose then strum a simple tune, before moving on to a more complex song.

While playing, Rose thought back to her time in the capital city, Urû'baen, and how she had once spent many nights doing precisely what she was doing at that moment. With Tornac sitting not far from her, much as he did now, listening mutely to whichever melody she pursued to practice, although now her playing was clipped from unpractice, and the roasting fire that flickered livingly in the hearth. She was content in that moment, with that sense of familiarly, and much of her annoyance that was created by the jealous secrets were dulled until they were but a forgotten injury.

The rest of that night was peaceful and soon dawn came gracing the world with its golden radiance. Gleaming rays of light streamed through a single small framed window, waking both Tornac and Rose early in the morning hours. Teary eyed and yawning Rose awoke reluctantly and unfolded herself from the thick layers of blankets and wraps. After the two of them had gotten around and bathed theirselves, privately, of course, with warm dampened rags and a meager breakfast was consumed, Tornac employed most of the day tutoring Rose on her swordmanship. After sparing both inside the cabin and out, near the small forest that bordered the small sables and the icy stream, Tornac lead Rose into the forest to demonstrate the advantages that might be taken in the woodland. The information enthralled Rose and she paid keen attention to what Tornac had to say. When Tornac pulled a supple limb of a yew back before releasing it, allowing it glide through the air like a sideways arrow with its flat, dark green needles rustling flatly, Rose asked; "This trickery is considered disreputable, correct?"

Tornac snorted. "Some would say."

"Then why bother with it? Isn't there a code of honor swordmen abide by?" she inquired wiping the snow off her cloak that fell from the towering trees above.

"Admirable combat means naught in your grave," he objected before continuing with his lecture.

By the end of that day Rose's mind was bustling with the knowledge Tornac had bestowed on her, yet, her body ached from the activity she had been put through, and so when the sun set she willingly lay onto her bedroll and swiftly fell asleep. Her sleep was deep and dreamless until she awoke abruptly in a frantic state.

Her breathing was labored and shallow, and her face was covered with sticky sweat. She gasped loudly noting with great shock that there was a sharp burning feeling between her shoulder and chest. The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt before, it felt almost as if it were sapping her liveliness from her. When Rose reached up and touched her shoulder she both cringed and gasped loudly when she came in contact with scorching metal. Wondering at what could heat the amulet so, Rose pulled at golden necklace away from her skin and studied it closely. Seeing nothing amiss she arranged the chain atop her thickly woven tunic, and she sat up taking in her surroundings thinking that perhaps she had fall asleep too close to the hearth.

She had been woken in the cold hours, not long, before sunup when an intense mist still clung thickly to the snow, which blanketed the hardened ground, drifting swirlingly when a gentle breeze blew. Pale silver moon beams gleamed luminously onto the cold earthen flooring of the cabin, bright as a gloomy day in shades of grey and pale indigo. The long lump that was Tornac was resting on his back fast asleep, his quiet even breaths could be heard and, Rose saw amusingly that he was drooling lightly.

Fingering the oval pendant with chariness Rose found that it was no longer hot to the touch. She frowned, thinking that she had imagined the ordeal, and shook her head to clear it before she stood up. Suddenly lucid from the brusque air she dressed warmly and she slipped out into the night eager to move about and warm her body.

The snow, crushed crisply beneath her feet with each step, reflected the full moon mutedly. Rose exhaled and watched as her white breathe vapor whirl simultaneously with the haze in the night. Yawning, she staggered to the iced over rivulet at the edge of a snow covered woodland, her skin wincing at the icy air. She hunched her thick cloak around her shoulders and scarcely glanced at the vaguely lit trees. The woodland was hardly gloomy as it was well lit by the rounded moon. The fog was diluted where the trees loomed high above and the ground was blanketed with brittle snow. There were no birds singing about high in their nest of trees, it was likely they were still slumbering. Rose sneezed and turned away drawing her hood over her head, her hair caught in the thick fabric and pulled lightly at her scalp. In the corner of her sight she saw a strange light in the distance, a fey blue wisp that simmered and vanished. Rose turned and stared past the trees for a second time, wondering if her mind was playing tricks on her for the second time that night.

The light tauntingly appeared a short distance from where it had disappeared and began to glide away. Rose watched as the light stopped and flickered as if beckoning her forth. As she took a wary step forth, the bizarre wisp shot away at an unbelievable speed. The light stopped yards ahead and flickered twice. Enchanted by the strange light, Rose continued into the woods slowly. The wisp stayed just out of her reach, hovering a few feet over the ground before it gradually began to increase its pace until Rose was at a fast jog.

Rose did not know how long she spent chasing after the light scuttling around countless trees of yew, birch and oak but somewhere deep within the forest the light flickered and vanished. She came to a stop, panting desperately for air. Rose placed her hands on her abdomen pressing hard against a side-stitch and crouched close the ground. Her chest was coldly burning for air and her legs ached terribly from the strain of the run.

During the time of the unusual light's pursuit, the sun had risen in the east and was now climbing high into the heart of the sky. It seemed that the endless cold had finally broken as the day no longer brought only numbness but instead new warmth extended down from the heavens. Only an intense bitter wind remained from the previous chill, bowing the trees and scattering about crystalline flakes of snow.

From the lofty trees, thick warped cords of wild grapevines clung limply to skeletal branches swinging lightly from the airstream. Below the swaying grapevines, a thin waning trail of a diminutive herd of deer imprints voyaged amiably down a precipitous hill and onwards to the icy banks of a mire where they faded from sight. The cliff-like incline was banked with escaping spiked undergrowth and linked vines of brier. Rose noticed also that there was a rotting pail at the roots of a maple tree, forgotten years before.

The wildlife was now alert and many squirrels scattered atop branches discarding clusters of snow in their wake and the birds sang harmoniously from a hidden location. Rose listened to the bird's twittering composition until her panting regulated into soft even breaths, she then stood hunched and eyed the winter forest about her warily.

She could not identify what had taken possessed her when she had pursued after the light. It was an eccentric thrill, a summoning maybe. The only way she could think to describe it was that, it was a weird and wonderful energy that had drawn her onward, one that she could not battle against, one that she did not wish to. The sensation that had inebriated Rose had parted with the wisp, replacing it was an unpleasant twinge.

Rose ignored her aching side and straightened further. She looked behind her, and to her relief, saw a path of prints impressed into the layer of snow from her boots. Later, she would have a way to return to the cabin when she wished to do so. It would be a long walk to the cabin, she knew, and the walk would seem longer as her stomach fiercely ached with hunger pangs. Rose shuttered and looked about for something to distract her mind. The only idea that pursued her mind was a faint memory from her childhood and so she looked to the thickly coiled grapevines with interest. A small smile played at her lips, and she stepped forward and ran her hand over a swooping rough surface of one of the thinner vines.

She recalled that as a child she would ride horseback beside Tornac and occasionally her nursemaid, Cordelia, under the emerald tree limbs of a small woodland. The woods lined the back of the capital's walls, and in the sweltering temperature of the summer months it teemed contently with life. There was more than one occasion when Rose would see a cluster of grubby children scaling high in the foliage eating the grapevine's plump fruit before swinging down from the careless vines. At a time she voiced her desire to join the children in their games but her request continuously fell on deaf ears and soon Rose stopped inquiring the matter until it was forgotten altogether.

Fingering the bark-like vine, Rose curiously yanked downwards on the vine before leaning back, her head facing the sky, testing her weight. She stayed like this for a long moment swinging lightly on the tips of her toes, allowing the shafts of sunlight to warm her face and the breeze sweep through her knotted hair. The ropey vine held firm, and so she released it stepping backwards a little over a yard away. Rose tested her ground, much like she would before sparing with Tornac, and took a running leap at the browned vine. When the vine was close to her, Rose reached out and clasped onto it firmly.

The vine lurched forth violently, creaking and groaning in effort, before it buckled and retorted. Rose grip slackened with shock as the vine pitched backwards and crackled. She cried out as her hands tore down the jagged vine, feeling as if a hundred blazing knives were slicing her skin to tatters.

Rose involuntarily let go of the grapevine, crashing forward to the frozen terrain below. The snow offered little cushion when she painfully clashed with the inclined earth there she promptly began to roll towards the marsh below.

Through Rose hardly see as white earth and brown lined sky blended together, she glaringly grabbed at the first branch she came in contact with, merely to yowl as it bit into the raw blistered skin of her hands. Despite the pain, she reached out to each branch or bedded rock within arm's reach, tearing the injured skin of her hands. Her body jerked limply against small stones and bushes riddled with sharp thorns and she felt her hair tear from her head until it throb with an astute stabbing pain. A strange feeling of warmth swathed her head though she could find no cause for it.

The curt fetters of gravity, grasped ahold of her body and held fast despite her ongoing struggle. Rose could no longer form a thought as agonizing clutches ailed her mind, so that soon only pain forbid her from acting. A foreign notion crossed her mind that she might continue in this way endlessly, and not a moment after Rose thought this she crashed into a body of water.

Rose soon came to a stop and she came to realize that she was at the bottom of the prominence and in the swamp below. The marsh was shallow but despite this she breathed in the muddy water. Her body acted on its own accord and she breathed in the water once more before she was racked with violent coughs. Rose slowly sat up and placed her head between her knees letting the water work its way out. After a long moment the coughing ceased and she began to rasp painfully. Tears trekked down her face adding further moister for the blustery wind to freeze and her tangled hair froze to her cheeks and clung to the inside of her mouth and nose. After an unbearable time, the gasping came to an end and she was able to breathe without great rush.

Rose bought her hands away from her face, which she was cradling without knowing of her own actions, and stared at the maimed skin. Her palms were torn, and red sticky blood run down and around her fingers. The cold air stung, and she took in a sharp breath.

She shifted her weight onto her knees and as she did she heard the sound of boots crunching on frozen pebbles. Her head whipped around in the direction of the noise. The person, whoever they might be, was of tall stature concealed heavily by a thick fur-lined cape. The individual walked with a slight hobble that was aided by a long wooden staff. Beside the knobbed rod was a regal sturdy-bodied hound bounded near the figure joyfully, its ears flapping as it walked.

"Fine weather for a swim, eh?" called out the man, for it was a man, in a deeply humored voice.

Rose slowly stood up and called in a raspy voice, "Who are you?"

The dog barked stridently at a bush and bounced off towards it.

"I be who I be," he answered loudly. "Name yerself, mistress of the march."

She sniffed and rubbed her hands together, nearly crying out as shards of hot pain shot up her arms. "I'd rather not," Rose said stiffly.

"Fair enough," the man said with a shrug. He came to a halt a distance from her and studied her from underneath his furred hood. Rose stiffened and held his unseen gaze. "By gods," he exclaimed. "Yer quivering like a leaf. I know yeh don't know me but my camp is but a short walk. I promise yeh warmth and a hot meal, maybe even something for that cut on yer head. Sound good?"

Rose glared at him with evident distrust but said nothing. She could see little of his face as it was concealed by shadow, but she imaged him to be smirked at her in a witty manner as he said, "Then enjoy catching yer death." The man then called to his dog, which galloped toward him with a pile of debris in its mouth and together they strode away.

Rose knew she had very little choice, she was hurt, cold, hungry and injured, and though she trusted this man not, he offered her warmth and a chance to heal a little before returning back to Tornac. She dreaded this thought because she knew Tornac would give her an ear full and Rose was not ready to face his wrath as of yet, and beyond that, she doubted that she would make it up the hummock and back to the cabin, not with the injuries she currently had. She sighed and slowly stood, suddenly aware of the aches throughout her body, and cautiously followed the stranger down the stoney path.