I do not own the Inheritance Cycle.
Edited 1/30/22
Please let me know your thoughts throughout the story, I'd love to hear for you :)
Enjoy,
Past the Gates of Death
They woke up well before light the next day, and ate under the sheltering of the wood-limbed roofing, warmed by the fire.
"Does it always rain here so much?" Eragon asked. He was looking at the overcast skies, watching the clouds as they tumbled and grumbled, threatening more rain. "I haven't seen much of the sun in a long time."
"This time of year it does," Selena said. "I'm rather surprised it hasn't been raining more."
"You've been in this area a lot?" He turned to her, setting his bowl on the ground before him.
Selena nodded into her bowl. "I had lived across the lake for quite some time," she said. "Though I've spent a number of months in all seasons around this region. It's one of the more charming parts of the Empire, not the most peaceful, mind you."
"Why did you live there?" Eragon asked looking towards the lake in the west, as if he were searching, without know what it was that he was looking for, for the castle near the Spine.
"That's where my husband had resided," Selena said, sharing a long look with Brom, then stood up. "Now that's enough questions for a time, if you don't mind. There is something Brom wishes to talk to you about." She covered a yawn with her hand. "Rose, if you could come with me, it'd be appreciated."
Rose looked up from the bowl she was holding and stood without a word. She had been sitting in silence, waiting for her head to clear. Her mind was slow and felt heavy as if it were weighed down. It was far too early to be awake. If the sun was not yet awake, neither should she be. Shaking herself, she blinked away wetness from her eyes as they began to smart in the raw the morning air.
Selena collected the bowls, taking the one from between Rose's fingertips, and beckoned her to follow. Together they entered the forest, the branches of the trees tunneled over them. All around them the wood was alive with the pale green of early spring; snowdrops and field's rush-wood pushed through tangled scrubs and grasses, and marjoram and wild mint released sharp fragrances as they bruised beneath their feet. Low thorny trees and scruffy clumps of pine grew under the leafing limbs, bent by the wind, growing between tingles of bramble and whin. Selena stopped once, setting down the pot, and picked the flowers, stuffing them into a pouch at her waist. "Whin makes a succulent tea," she explained, closing the pouch. "Farmers use whin for fodder but I prefer it for other uses." Rose nodded and took notice to dropping blue star-shaped blossom that grew everywhere beneath the undergrowth.
Selena continued forward and led her to a small stream which flowed fresh and cold water from the lake. Behind the high bushes of large bramble and whin, a small bank of smooth grass shelved down to a pool of grey water. Bending down, Selena dropped the pot beside her and knelt over the stream, splashing water over her head. "There's something I need you to do for me," she said washing her hands; dirt and ash swirled into the water and disappeared. Rose sat on the grass nearby with a yawn, waiting for the woman to continue. "Keep what you know about Brom's past to yourself." Selena ran her fingers through her hair, untangling the dampened ends. "Eragon does not know about Brom being a Rider. It's something that Brom wants to talk to Eragon about himself."
Rose felt a tinge of irritation. Forcing herself not to look at Selena, she dipped her hands into the pool and splashed the cool water over her head. She gasped as the freezing water washed over her, waking her fully. "Don't worry yourself," said Rose, drying herself with her cloak, "I won't be the one who tells him."
Pulling the bowls from the pot, Selena sighed and stared at the dark metal. "Did Brom tell you much last night?" she said. She grabbed a rag and, dipping it into the water, began to scrub the pot.
"No." Rose plunged a bowl into the pool and set it beside her at a loss of what to do. Selena had only brought one rag, which she was using to clean the pot, forcing Rose to listen to what she had to say. With a yawn, Rose scrubbed her face with her hands. The wakefulness from the cool water was beginning to numb away. "Should he have?"
Selena was silent for a time, scrubbing and raising out the pot. Her face was set and unreadable, as she thought. "I supposed he wouldn't have but I hoped, all the same," she said after a time. She sat back suddenly and dropped the rag into the pot, staring blankly at her hands.
"What's wrong?"
"What is not?" Selena plucked the rag from the pot and began to scrub it with vehemence. For a time Rose wondered if she were hoping to scrub a hole though the metal. "My son is seeking vengeance and calling it justice." She sank the rag into the water and wrung it out, before returning to the pot. "It's a fool's task, what he is hoping to do. I would have thought that Garrow would have taught him to have a least some common sense but it seems as if he takes after his father." Selena lowed her voice and continued to grumble at the pot for a time, before raising it out and moving on to the bowls.
Rose sat back, watching Selena's movement as she waited for her to calm, before speaking. "It's not just his search for reprisal that is troubling you, is it?"
Selena shook her head. "No," she said. "It is not."
Rose waited again for Selena but the woman remained silent. "If you did not take me out here to assist you, then, I must ask; why am I here?" she said after a long moment.
"To give them the time they need." Selena paused and looked up. "Eragon wishes to seek revenge on the Ra'zac for killing my brother," she said and faltered, falling silent for a time. She looked down at her hands, and then returned to cleaning. "He's a rather determined about doing so and will be very unhappy to hear that we must continue without the delay. Brom and I came to the decision continue forward without seeking out the Ra'zac. This will upset Eragon greatly. I've dipped my hands in their affairs enough, rescinding their pastime, and so Brom wants to speak to him privately."
Rose was silent for a moment turning this information over. "How are you?"
Selena started and looked up. "Hmm?"
"I want to know how you are faring," she said, pulling her legs to her chests. "It cannot be easy hearing that your brother has passed."
"I'm well enough," said Selena.
They, again, sat in silence for a time, as Selena scrubbed the bowls clean, keeping the rest of her thoughts to herself. Finally the woman stood up, and holding the pot with the bowls inside it, walked back to the path without a word. Rose scrambled up and chased after her, weaving herself around the overgrowth and thorny branches.
After a short walk they returned to the camp, and began the task of packing and battling the undergrowth to the road. They kept towards Dras-Leona, and turned east the first moment the road turned from loose gravel to soft dirt. By noon they passed the Helgrind. It towered into the heavens, four misshaped peaking crags of dark stone that stood out starkly against the pure blue of the sky- the threat of rain having passed. The pillars seemed to pull in the brightness of the world it rested upon, making the sky and haloing sun seem all that much brighter. The grassed land below the Helgrind was trampled, as if many men had been walking around the lands trampling it down, and stones loosely bordered a small path towards the city.
The people of Dras-Leona adulated the rock crags, believing them to be divine gates into the heavens. Rose had heard tales- whispers- that the priests of Helgrind sacrificed innocents and partook in their blood as if it were wine, in the ways of their twisted religion. She wondered very briefly why anyone would wish to see peaks up close when seeing them from a distance was sufficiently unpleasant, or if their worshippers had any sagacity at all. As far as she could see the Helgrind was simply a pile of jagged stone and nothing more. There was nothing to worship. Nothing that deserved praise.
"What does Helgrind mean?" asked Eragon from behind her.
Rose turned and glanced at him, she had been wondering the same thing but was very unwilling to inquire after it. If Helgrind meant anything, she had decided, surely its meaning was something of little joy.
"It means 'the gates of death'," said Selena, who was riding beside him, "in the Ancient Language."
Eragon nodded thoughtfully, and glanced again at the black peaks. "A fitting name," he muttered.
Indeed, Rose thought in agreement. She turned away, and looked impassively at the road ahead.
An unhappy sound came from Eragon very suddenly, a small declaration of his aggravation at not going into Dras-Leona. Selena had been quite right about his displeasure. He was keeping to himself, in a resentful obstinacy, speaking only when he had a question.
Rose had learned that only reason Eragon wished to go into Dras-Leona was to revenge his uncle's death. The Ra'zac had killed the man, poisoned his skin, and tortured him, thus forcing Eragon from his home in Carvahall, a small town very near the Spine in the north. Since his uncle's death Eragon had been traveling with Brom on the roads of the Empire with very few supplies through cities and dangers.
Perhaps it was because of the reason that Ra'zac came to Carvahall that stunned Rose the most. She had been told that the creatures came in search of a dragon egg, the one that was stolen over a decade ago from the King treasury, having somehow ended up with Eragon. The Ra'zac had come for the egg sometime after Eragon had received it but by then it was too late. As Thorn had hatched for Rose, the egg had hatched for Eragon, making him a Dragon Rider months before the Ra'zac arrived.
She didn't know how to react to this. Rose was hard-pressed enough into accepting that Eragon was her brother, knowing now that he too was a Rider made her completely undecided. A part of her, a very large part, wanted to know him. Yet it was this knowledge that stopped her from doing so, making her responses to him crisp and short.
The further they drew from Dras-Leona, the more seldom they saw people, and by late that afternoon they saw no one and passed no more houses. They moved at a brisk trot, feeling that the sooner they left the sullen country the better, and rode on after dusk until it was almost full night, guided by the light of the stars and half-moon. Only then did they draw to the side of the road and make camp under an old willow. Once the horses were unsaddled and tethered, with a long cord allowing them prospect to graze, they took their packs and set them around the base of the tree. After they gathered some dead branches Brom lit a fire, its light chasing the gloom of night away a little.
As they ate, Rose felt Thorn mindtouch her. Looking up she made out two silhouettes circling above, dark against the starlight, and reached her mind out him curiously. You and your four-legged beasts are very slow, he said, sensing her inquiry. I wished to see the truth for myself.
Did you find what you were looking for? Rose shifted on the ground, watching as one the shadows dived towards them, mending with the darkness.
Yes, he said.
She could feel an uneasiness from him, though his tone remained calm. Saying nothing about it, she continued to watch as one of the figures dove towards Eragon and landed nearby. The dragon that landed within the encampment was not Thorn. It was perhaps, as far as Rose could tell, agile and slim, whereas Thorn was bulky and stout, as if built solely for flight. The dragon's scales were a blue so dark that they seemed almost purple, and reflected light in silver fractions. It opened its mouth slightly, then, briefly studying the people around it, turned to Eragon, its long barbed tong flashed between two incisors as thick as fists.
Eragon jumped up, greeting the blue dragon warmly, and in turn it nudged its snout against his chest, causing him to grumble and almost lose his balance. Stumbling back, he smiled and said something to the dragon, before he rested his back against its belly. For a moment he stood there, before seating himself beside her and meeting Rose's gaze with a frown.
Looking away, Rose glanced towards the sky at Thorn, waiting for him to join them. Did you and the dragon not get on well? She asked when he continued to fly about in circles.
We get along well enough, he said with some reluctance.
Come down if you wish to, Thorn, Rose said, glancing in the direction of Dras-Leona. In the distance she could see the golden glow of the city's lights. It's your choice to make. Thorn came down very shortly after she said this, resting himself a short distance behind her, his tail sweeping across the ground. He and Rose talked very little that night, the silence they shared was comfortable enough.
After a time had passed, and that evening's meal was cleaned away, when the day's light had faded completely leaving the sky above them a dark satin filled with tiny dots of light, Eragon and Brom pulled out two swords and sparred for a short time. Rose didn't pay much attention to their swords at first, watching their forms and style instead. Their spar session was very different than Rose's had been with Tornac and Selena. They had used magic to shield the edges of their blades, allowing them full control with the blade as they fought without having to worry about cutting their opponent, and thus allowing them to bruise their foe head to toe mercilessly. Tornac had been opposed to such things, claiming that one would never learn to control their blade with barriers.
Rose couldn't help but to compare her new companions to one left behind, and as she did she realized just how sorely she missed Tornac and the illusion that Selena had lay out. It was however, when Eragon's sword flashed bloodedly against the fire's light that she started, and looked at it closely in disbelief, her former thoughts forgotten. "Is that Morzan's sword?" Rose asked, shifting close to Selena.
The woman sniffed. "Yes," she said. "I'm surprised you recognized it."
Rose was silent for a time as she watched the red sword swing through the air. When Brom killed Morzan he must have taken the sword with him, and when Eragon became a Rider it must have been passed down to him. As far was Rose was concerned, Eragon could have it. She wanted nothing to do with such a blade. "May I ask something?"
Selena nudged her arm in a playful manner. "Is that not a question within itself?"
With a frown, Rose continued to watch the swords flash, silver and red in the firelight. "I suppose it is," she said after a moment. "How are we going to get to the Varden? On which roads are we to take and through what lands, is what I want to know."
"We're going through Surda," Selena said after a moment's pause. "Most of the towns and cities we're going to try to avoid. From there we're to travel to the Beor Mountains then to the Varden itself. If anything Surda is not any less safe to travel than the Empire."
"And when we get there, to the Varden," Rose said, "we'll do what?"
Selena frowned at her, and leaned back onto her hands, as the sounds of crashing became too loud to speak over. "I do not know for sure," she said. "You and Eragon will likely learn from Brom, and assist in small ways within the Varden's hideaway. Later you'll likely go the elves to further your training, something I do not wish for. I'm not certain what I'll do, but I don't think I'll be leaving the Varden's sheltering anytime soon. We are all in need of a rest after this journey."
Nodding, Rose fell silent. They continued to watch the men for some time, until they stopped, their swords falling to their sides, supposedly done for the night. Eragon returned the red blade to his bags, hiding it from sight.
They continued through the dismal countryside for the next two days, traveling all day and keeping watch at night. They saw no one else on the road. Gradually the landscape began to change; the land began to fall away and a river carved itself from a ravine that grew deeper and deeper, and ridges began to shadow them, rising sharp shoulders of bare rock that dropped off to sheer cliffs. Little water falls fell down the cliffs gathering in swallow rock pools smiled with green, their mists curling into the air. Stunted pines and bumbles rambled up the jagged slopes. The wind shrilled through the teeth of rocks, and very high above sometimes they saw a pair of hunting birds. Eragon looked thoughtfully around him, and as they rode, Rose became uncomfortably aware of the sharp clop of the horses' hooves as they echoed sharply off the rocks.
"This is bandit country," said Brom as he looked warily around him. "Keep your wits about you, and be prepared for anything."
That night they camped slightly off the road under an overhang of rock. They lit no fire. The horses stamped and circled, cropping on rough, bitter grass. The dragons rested above them, the shelving of rock too narrow for them to fly into, for if they did, Thorn had said, should any danger come they would be trapped and without the ability to fly out. The travelers sat in silence, looking out into the road and rock horizon on its others side cutting off the stars with sharp blades of darkness. They were, Selena told them, six days ride from Melian. "If out luck holds we'll be past it in seven days or so," she said. "But I don't like these hills. It's far too silent here."
"We're not going to Melian?" asked Eragon.
"Nay," Brom answered, fingering the ends of a pipe. "We'll cut around it, and after we'll leave the road for a while. After Melian the roads runs to along the Jiet River straight to Feinster, or over to Furnost. They don't go any further south than that, or they don't anymore."
Just before dawn, that next day, the temperature dropped sharply and it began to drizzle. They started early just to get the blood moving in their frozen limbs. In the dismal light before dawn, the landscape looked even more dreary than it had the day before. Rose felt miserable; her hands were numb with cold, her cloak flapped damply around her knees as she ran beside Starshine, and her face felt raw from windburn. She tried not to think about a bath or a hot roast, although the images and desires kept rising within her, making the present moment even worse. The drizzle continued though morning, and then settled into a steady rain. The weather briefly cleared that afternoon and they stopped for an extended lunch and allowed the horses to rest for a time and shed their damp clothing.
As Eragon hastily shoved his wet clothing aside, he started as a creature flicked across the ground in the corner of his eye. He looked at it, and bent down, the toad croaked and stared at him. He stared back. They were ugly creatures, toads, full of warts and ill luck and bad magic. At that moment Eragon didn't need any more bad luck, he had his fill of it over the last weeks. "You know," he told the toad, "there's a witch out there trying to prove you don't exist."
The toad's body puffed up, and it hopped away.
With a sigh Eragon rolled onto his back and stared up at the sky. The sun wasn't shining and the sky was threatening rain again, and what was worse; Saphira wasn't around. She had gone off hunting with Thorn hours earlier leaving him the company of Brom and his new found companions.
He didn't know how he felt about Selena and Rose. Selena was his mother, he had spent half his childhood dreaming about meeting her, and now here she was, alive and laughing with Brom, but he wasn't unhappy about it. His mother, he should know her better, be able to call her Mother and he tried to, once, but found he could not.
And then there was Rose. Rose, who seemed to dislike him, avoiding him whenever possible without a reason he knew of, was his sister. Eragon had once dreamt that he had siblings that they would joke and play with him when his mother and father came for him, but now he wished he didn't have any. He had Roran, though he might never see him again, and that should be enough for him.
Eragon looked over at his sister then, she was sitting not far off reading a leather-bound book. He was very tempted to go over and find out what the book was about, see if he could read it, or talk to her. Before he knew what he was doing, he had gotten up and walked towards her. She looked up at him without a smile as he cast a shadow over her.
"Is there something you want?" she asked though not unkindly.
He sat down where he stood. "No," he said. "Not really."
Rose nodded and returned to her book. A short silence over took them.
"What was our father like?" he asked suddenly. He hadn't been able to get that thought out his mind since he found out Rose his sister. She must have known their father, seen him, and talked to him- known him for a time. "Where is he?"
There was a loud breath as Rose looked at him. "What do you think he was like?"
He was taken aback by that question. He didn't have a clue what his father was like, who he was, or what he looked like, he had ideas of course, many of ideas. "I don't know," he said. "I had always thought that he is someone of importance. That he's rich and important."
Rose nodded. "He was," she said, fingering the edge of a page. "He was all those things and many more."
"He's dead?"
She nodded and looked away. "Very much so."
Eragon looked down at the news. He'd had hopes to meet his father one day, now he knew that he never would. "You don't sound sad that he's dead," he observed. She said nothing for a time, looking again at the book. "What was his name?"
She stiffened, and wiped a loose hair from her face. "I'd rather not say," she said as if it were the end of the conversation.
Eragon nodded, deciding to save that question to ask again later. He sat down next to her, folding his legs in front of him. "Was he a good man?"
"Many believed so."
"Alright," he said slowly as he gathered his thoughts. He glanced around for something more to say, she wasn't telling him much. He didn't think she would. "What do you think of him?"
Rose was silent for a time, staring at the pages of the book in silence. One of her fingers moved in circles around the letters, as if she were thinking. Then, after a time, she looked at him, forcing his gaze to meet hers. "Let me ask you a question," she said as if thinking over the words carefully, folding her hands upon top of the book. "What was Garrow to you? Was he good to you, as a father should be to a son, or not?"
Eragon looked down as shame colored his face. "He was very good to me," he said, staring at his lap. He felt something rise up inside his chest, but he forced it down. "Garrow was a good man. He shouldn't have died."
"He raised you as a father would?"
Eragon swallowed. "Yes," he said.
"Then that's all you need to know about your father," Rose said, standing up. "Our father is but a ghost that lingers in the past, and it's best to let him remain there." She didn't look at him as she hastily walked away to the fire where she sat down, and returned to her book.
Eragon knew than that his hunt for answers from her was over, and before long Brom called for them to pack up as a freezing wind cut over the land, cutting through their clothes and chilling them to the bone.
They continued until night, when it began too dark to go any further, and made camp under an over-cropping of stone. By then Rose trying to suppress a bad temper by staring at the book in her lap, not truly reading what it had to say. She was very near the end of it now and was beginning to think it would be best to reread it, this time from the beginning. She felt a pickling in the back of her mind and reached out for Thorn, mindtouching him with ease. I hope you enjoyed yourself, she said, fingering the edges of the papers.
I did, he said. As I'm sure you have been.
The day was rather uneventful if that's what you wish to know. In a silent debating, she paused a long enough moment for Thorn to land above, on a shingling of stone. Eragon asked about Morzan earlier, she said turning to him, just able to see him on the ledge above.
Thorn was silent for a time, his tail swaying across the ground. What did you tell him? he said at last.
Not much of anything. She turned back the book, fingering a small tear near the edge of the page. Just enough to get him to leave me be.
Thorn grumbled a laugh as he lay down. Then he's likely to ask you again.
Rose cringed at the thought. Eragon did indeed ask quite a lot of questions, and he was rather persistent about getting answers when he wanted them. She had known that Eragon would ask after their father eventually but she hadn't thought he would ask so soon. Rose had hoped for more time to come up with answers, ones that wouldn't have him running to Selena for more information. And yet, Eragon had come to her and she was able to avoid, though barely, telling him more than he needed to know before taking the first chance to saw to get away from him. It was only a matter of time, now, until he returned for answers that she didn't want to give him.
I know, Rose said. But I don't think he's ready to know that Morzan fathered him. He's upset about not avenging his uncle's death, Thorn. I don't think he'd react well knowing what I know. It would do nothing but burden him.
You're protecting him, he said after a moment.
She frowned. Only from himself, Rose said unable to deny it. She provocatively studied the page of the book in front of her. And you with your odium towards weasels. How was your hunt?
Thorn grumbled a rumble of disagreement, then enthusiastically told her of his time hunting with Eragon's dragon, whose name was Saphira as Eragon made sure to firmly informed Rose, as well as the tale around her name, seeming quite glad she had given him the excuse to do so. After a time his tale ended, and Rose nodded, returning silently to her book. As it became too dark to continue reading Rose closed the book and returned it to her bags, having just finished it. She had decided not to reread for the beginning as the ending of the mythology was very unsatisfying, and choose instead to assist with preparing a dinner. There was not much to prepare, however, as they ate a meal roasted meat and hard bread and cheese but it was a welcoming change to keep her hands busy.
The next day was not quite so miserable, the weather began to clear and some sunshine warmed them, and the ravine's walls began to falter and Thorn and Saphira, were able to join them on the ground at last. Though they chose to stay in the sky, as they traveled. After a while Rose forgot her dark mood in the rhythm of riding, and she soon turned her attention into conversing idly with Thorn. They didn't reach the end of the canyon until the end of the fourth day, and then at last they turned their faces south.
