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,
The Haunt
That night Eragon didn't sleep. He lay on his back, under Saphira's wing, his eyes open, staring at the shadowed smoothness of the wing above him, and listening to the gentle breathing of his companions. Saphira stirred restlessly in her sleep and began to hum, and Eragon smiled at the sound. He could hardly believe how much she had grown in the last months, he wouldn't have noticed the difference as much if Thorn wasn't there to compare her to.
Thinking of the dragon, he peeked his head out from under Saphira's wing and looked at him. He was thumping his tail against the ground in a rhythm Eragon did not know. He groaned and covered his face with his arms, enveloping himself in darkness. Thorn had a resentment for the ground or for others getting sleep, Eragon firmly believed, for him to beating the ground so mercilessly.
Even if Eragon wished to sleep, he knew he could not, or he couldn't without being awoken within a few scarce hours of sleep. The dreams that once intrigued his sleeping mind now hunted after him, a dog following its master in hopes for table scraps. When he slept, he could almost hear voices ringing dimly in the back of his mind, beckoning to him. Every moment he dreamed he saw not only the woman and her cage, he saw the cell now as a cage, but the passions that blazed within, shifting in the darkness like veils; the fears and hatreds and loves and greifs and desires. Though he did not know what they directed towards, he knew of her desire to feel the fabric of the earth and, worse of all, the eerie knowledge that she was dying.
The moment he turned his back on Dras-Leona, he felt an overwhelming urge pulling him away towards the north. It was nearing impossible to ignore and seemed to grow with each and every moment. He wondered if migrating birds might feel something similar, when they returned to their nesting in the springtime. It was a desire like hunger that ran through the fiber of his very being, pulling to a particular place which became harder to ignore with each passing night and the dreams that came from the darkness, robbing him of his sleep. He was sure that he was meant to find this woman, where ever and whoever she was. The thought of leaving her to her fate now, when he was sure she was dying, filled him utter desolation; why would he be having these dreams if they didn't mean anything?
He often wondered if this was it was like to go mad. He was almost completely certain that he going to lose his sanity, or that he already was.
The racket Thorn was making dragged him out of his thoughts, and he rolled onto his stomach and wiggled his way out from under Saphira completely, giving up on sleep. Eragon stretched, feeling as if his muscles were locking up on him, and wandered outside to sit with Selena, who had woken up and taking over his watch shift, sending him away to rest, some hours before. She turned and frowned as he sat down next to her, but said nothing. It was the coldest part of the night; the turf glittered with hoarfrost under the moonlight, and his breath curled white on the air.
Eragon looked over the lands, watching the light from the moon shift behind the clouds. The clouds shifted again, releasing the moon from its barring, and he watched the silver light wash over the landscape. Not taking his eyes off the hills, he let his mind wander. In the distance, though he couldn't see them, he knew that there were ruins of an ancient city. He had walked through its ruined streets, or what he thought to be its streets, looking at the rising outlines of bleached stones covered in ivy and creeping thorns. The last remains of the buildings were the fencing to messy weedy gardens. Small creatures called out their dismay at the sight of Saphira as she walked next to him, and they scattered away before Eragon could identify where they were. He had heard a sound from somewhere behind him, and turned to see the only ruin taller than he. He had thought it to be a guardhouse and, intrigued, had passed under its thick granite lintel into the roofless ruin. Looking up he could still see what was stairway that had led to a lookout high above. For the most part the walls, made of huge stones cunning placed together, without cement of any kind, still stood high. Although the floor and roofing had rotted long ago, leaving marks of fireplaces where rooms had once had been. There was only one doorway, and slits high on the wall for windows, and no roofing at all. Eragon had turned and left, feeling as if something was watching him. Not long after he had talked Saphira into flying out that area, it was an eerie place. He didn't want to go back there even if he had to, it reminded him too much of what he saw in Yazuac.
Would people ever come to live in Yazuac again? Or would its bloodstained ghosts keep them away? If no one ended up moving to Yazuac, would it become like the city he had walked through? The images of the dead people flashed in his mind, as his anger grew. People didn't deserve to die like that, as if they were game to be hunted, only to be tossed aside like a pile of rubbish. No, he thought, no sane person would come to live in Yazuac once word broke lose about the slaughter of its people.
He shook his head, willing the images from his mind, and thought instead on something else. Brom had promised him, not long ago, his revenge on the Ra'zac for killing his uncle but now they were running from the place he was sure that the Ra'zac were staying. Eragon had been told that they would travel to Dras-Leona at a later time, when his skills were better honed, yet he doubted this would happen. He didn't believe that Brom meant what he said. Brom had seemed far too willing to toss aside their former pursuit, replacing it instead with traveling to the Varden. The question that bothered Eragon the most was: why?
Brom had made his views on going to the Varden very clear. He didn't wish to go there with Eragon yet, claiming that he, Eragon, as a Dragon Rider, wasn't ready. Was he now ready or was because of something Selena had told him? Eragon thought the latter to be most likely. He was certain that she was hiding something, not just one thing but many. It must be a very good reason for Brom to change his mind so quickly. He'd have to ask Brom later, when he was sure that the old man would answer him. If he asked him now, Eragon was sure Brom wouldn't tell him.
The more Eragon thought about it the more he wondered who Selena was exactly. She claimed to be his mother, swore it to be true in the Ancient Language, but he still doubted it despite know that no one could lying in the language. He had asked her why she had left him with his uncle, and was answered by a swift: "It was the best option at the time." And when he questioned why she hadn't returned for him, she claimed that she wanted to but it wasn't safe for him, that she didn't want to disrupt his life in Carvahall, and that she didn't know if his aunt and uncle had told him that they were not his parents. He had asked her who her husband was, this question caused her task him with a time consuming errand, fending off his questions completely. Despite this, Eragon found that he enjoyed the woman's company, though she was very different than he thought she would be, and found her to be knowledgeable and filled with a kindness that was never cloying.
Eragon hadn't been around women for a long period of time, not including Saphira, since his aunt Marian had died, and he found the continuous presence of Selena and Rose unpredictable. Were all women that way? Eragon remembered that once he had asked his uncle what his mother was like and he had gruffly said that she was storm, but he told him nothing more. If his mother was like a storm, then his sister was the pulsing gale before it.
Rose confused him. There were moments, like earlier that night, when she seemed sincere as she spoke with him, then there times when her remarks were short and she seemed as if she disliked him. It seemed also that they shared very little in common; Eragon was interested in archery and hunting, some of the subjects that Rose seemed to shy away from. Nonetheless their close proximity forced them into conversations, and they learned a little about each other. He had learned that she hadn't grown up as he had, but someplace much different. He didn't know where. She wouldn't say. She didn't say much to him, or anyone else for that matter.
Eragon also wondered about her relationship with Thorn. She didn't seem close to Thorn, like he was with Saphira. Brom had told him that a Rider's closeness with dragon was irresistible but Eragon could count on his right hand the number of times he had witnessed her show affection to the ruby dragon in the weeks he had met them, and even then, they were small things. They seemed to pester each other more often than they showed any sort of affection. It made Eragon very thankful for his bond with Saphira. As if knowing that he was thinking of her, Saphira grumbled in her sleep.
Something warm was placed into his hands, as Selena asked him what was upsetting him. He looked up, saying nothing, not knowing what to say, and experimentally taking a sip of the tea. It wasn't scolding hot, like he thought it would be, but pleasantly warm. He took another sip.
"I know you're downhearted about not punishing the Ra'zac for Garrow's death," she said slowly, settling down next to him. "I understand how hard it must have been for you see what you saw, but I want you to understand something, Eragon."
He roughly set the cup down next to him, nearly spilling its contents. "What?"
"Garrow would never have wanted you seek his killers and kill them for their crimes. I may not have seen my brother in the recent years but I once knew him very well," she said. "He was not an unforgiving man. He could never hold a grudge for long no matter what the person's crime was. It would sorrow him greatly to know that you were seeking to avenge his death."
"You don't want the Ra'zac to die for what they did?" He turned and looked narrowly at her, his hands clenched into fists. "They tortured my uncle. He suffered because of them. It's their fault he's dead, and they should pay for it."
Selena merely poked at the fire, unaffected by his anger. "That they should," she said in a quiet voice. "Vengeance, however, is not the answer to your grief. Repaying evil with evil is a path that leads to nowhere expect for further hurt, Eragon. I've met many good men who have died or gone mad as result of their hunt for retaliation. I don't wish for you to risk losing who you are because of it." She shifted and set the stick, she had been using to prod the fire, on the ground between them. "I cannot tell you what to do, yet, I do hope, all the same, that you'll listen to my words and take them to heart."
Eragon grumbled moodily, and looked up at the moon. He thought a little on what she said, then shook his head and looked at the ground. He wanted to tell her that she didn't know what she talking about, that she hadn't seen Garrow die and that she had no right telling him not avenge his uncle, but something in her face made him bite his tongue.
"Why did you live with the Varden?" he said instead. He had asked the question before, but she had refused to answer at that time.
She sucked in a startled breath. "It was the safest place for me," Selena said, poking again at the fire. "I couldn't return to Carvahall. That would have been far too dangerous, and I didn't want to put you at risk in that way. Nor could I sit by idly waiting for my life to end, so I went south to the Varden looking for something useful to do."
"Why couldn't you return to Carvahall? Uncle would have helped you and let you live with us," said Eragon glancing at her. "What did you do that put you in danger if you came back?"
She laughed lightly, as if he told a joke, and shook her head. "What hadn't I done, is the better question to ask," she said. "I've done many things, Eragon, and I want you to know none of them. I won't tell you either, so don't ask." Eragon closed his mouth and looked down at his hands. "Brom told me that you enjoyed your stay in Teirm, why don't you tell me about that."
Eragon closed his eyes and smiled before telling about what had happened in Teirm. She listened to him without interrupting, allowing him to say what he thought and what he saw in the city. When he told her about Angela the herbiest, her eyes narrowed and she dug the stick deeper into the fire. "She told me that she predicted the future of a woman named Selena," he said, choosing his words carefully. "Was she talking about you?"
Selena made a face, making her look as if she had bitten into something rotten. "It was," she said, "the most foolish thing I had ever done. Fortune telling is a faithless act. The future changes so very quickly, there's no true way of knowing one's fate without living through it. Did you allow her tell you fate?"
"Aye," said Eragon. "Do you remember what she told you?"
"Yes," she said, her head bent.
Eragon looked up at her curiously. "What did she tell you? Did any of it come true?"
Selena turned her sour look to him. "Why are you so curious about this?" she asked. "It matters very little what happened between Angela and I. She told me a bunch of twaddle, hardly any of it has come to pass."
Eragon knew she was lying, but with some probing on her behalf for him to continue, he didn't question her about it again. Remembering that Angela said it had saddened her greatly, he continued his tale about what had happened in Teirm. By the time he was done the sky had begun to lighten, causing him to sigh with relief. For the first time in days, he hadn't had to dream about the woman, and hopefully he'd be so tired that he wouldn't dream about her that coming night.
Rose dreamed of Tornac. He was not dressed in the clothes as she had last seen him, but as if for a festival, with a long cloak embroidered with a bright colored thread and a silver brooch shining at his throat. They were wondering through one of green meadows filled with wild flowers that surrounded Urû'baen, laughing yet without the knowledge at what they laughing about. The grass was almost as high as her knees, and she experimentally snapped a stem in half and ran her fingers along its golden fuzz. The valley, and Tornac, reminded her of the days she had spent riding in the woods behind the castle, but she saw no horses or other men and women near nearby, and she almost voiced this, then she remembered that Tornac was dead, and he and the valley disappeared.
She woke, and the dream vanished completely from her mind, leaving behind it a ghost-print of grief. It was still some hours before the sun would rise. She stretched, and rolled over, wishing to return to sleep.
You best not, Thorn said, sensing her thoughts. The old one wishes to begin travel before the sun does.
Rose took a deep breath, the air chilled her thoroughly. Perhaps I could and gain a few more moments of rest, she replied. People are not meant to this live way. All this traveling is wearing me thin, and I haven't gotten a proper night of rest in ages. I'm tired. Let me sleep.
She felt a prickle of Thorn's concern, but it was so brief she wondered if she felt it at all. He grumbled an amused sound then and withdrew from her mind.
True to Thorn's word she was soon forced to abandon the warmth of her blanket, and after a poor breakfast of hard bread and dried fruit and nuts she was busied helping the others strike camp. They saddled the grumbling horses and moved south and though they had no road to follow, there was not so much as a deer's trail, and the ground was uneven, they continued forward at a swift pace. Here a large stream carved its banks through the grass, its water bubbling over stones and around reeds. They followed the river, while keeping it on their right always within sight.
Brom spent that day preaching lessons on magic to Eragon, as much to distract them as for any other reason. Rose and Selena listened on in silence. When they began speaking in the Ancient Language, Selena would occasionally turn to Rose and tell her the meanings of the words.
Rose looked at the backs of Eragon and Brom, not understanding the words they exchanged, and wished, feeling put out, that Selena had taught her more of the Ancient Language. Had she left Rose ignorant on propose? She shook her head, clearing it of thought as the feeling vanished and she began to feel conflicted. Rose did not want to learn if she truth, and yet… Thorn too far off to speak to, and the conflicting thoughts kept creeping into her head.
Meanwhile, they journeyed with no sign of trouble. When they passed onto a road, it was so crippled with overgrowth and in such shambles that it would have gone unnoticed had sound of the horses' steps changed.
Despite its beauty this place eroded the soul, Rose thought, as if it were haunted by despair and endless lamentation. She felt a silence inside her, echoing the stillness of the valley. She heard very little chattering of from the birds and saw no proof of life besides her companions. The flatland they passed felt strangely hostile, and although she never saw anything sinister, the farther they traveled, the jumpier she felt. If this land was indeed a battle field, then they were undoubtedly walking upon the graves of an ancient people.
She was more than glad when they struck camp, and she was at last able to look at something other than the valley. A south wind rose, rushing over the grasses and thrashing the branches of trees where they sought shelter. A layer of clouds spread over the sky, and the moon climbed up from the horizon, blurred and dim, casting a pale light over the empty lands around them.
After they ate their evening meal, as a seemingly nightly ritual, Eragon took out his sword, its blade shining bloodily in the firelight, looking at Brom as he waited for the man to move to do the same. "Would you like to spar?" asked Eragon.
Brom looked up at him, his eyes bright behind his bushy eyebrows. "Not tonight," Brom said, piling more wood into the fire. He sighed, and sat down, stretching his legs before him. "There are two other people occupying this camp, Eragon, maybe you should ask one of them."
Eragon startled and glanced between Selena and Rose before turning to look at Saphira, who was resting between two trees. As they seemed to have a quick conversation, Rose glanced away and caught Selena staring at her. "Why don't you practice with Eragon," said Selena. "It's been some time since you've done any sort of practice with your sword."
Rose bit her lip. She hadn't practiced much since Tornac had passed- how long ago had that been? It didn't seem to a long time, perhaps, two or three weeks. "I'd rather not," she said with a quick shake of her head.
Selena blew through her nose in exasperation. "You should else you fall out of practice," she said gently, her eyes closed. "It cannot do you harm, Rose, it's nothing but a tool. His crimes do befall on it."
Looking down, she untwisted her fingers from the piece of grass she was fiddling with, knowing that Selena was speaking of the sword that once belonged to Morzan. The sword was merely an extension of his hands, though, now, he was no longer the one wielding it. Rose looked tensely at Eragon then stood, unsheathing her own sword. "Shall we, then?" she said to him.
Eragon nodded, and after the edges were blocked on both of the swords they faced each other, him crouched down looking on rather hesitantly. Then his expression shifted, and he swung his sword at her, hardly giving her enough time to react, their swords meeting in midair. He drew back from her, in quick movements, he didn't seem to give it a second thought as he swung his sword at her again.
She dodged away, with a sudden breath as the red blade came slashing at her, whapping her on the arm and she nearly fell backwards in surprise. Despite herself she gaped at him, shunned for a short moment, then as she righted herself, twisting away from him. Rose felt a boiling tide of rage pour over her orbiteering rationally, sense, anything but rage, and bouncing forward, she thrust the blade in her hands at his head before she thought about what it was that she was doing. He defended at last moment, pulling back with flourish and a grin.
Watching as Rose twisted her blade away from him, Eragon stepped after her trying to get within reach of her. Each time he did this, she pulled away from him, forcing him to step forward and swing his blade at her or wait for her to do so to him.
Rose was faster than he thought her to be, quick to move away or swipe her sword at him. He was taller and stronger than she, and she didn't seem to be trying to hit him, this he to his advantage. She wasn't used to aiming for the limbs and hitting others, he thought. Just as he thought this, she struck at him with as if in an iron fiery. He reflexively lashed out at her, hitting her again in the arm with the flat side of the blade, having broken through her defense causing her to look at him again in a look of withering disbelief. Despite himself, a laugh escaped him. After that however Eragon wasn't able to get gain any advantage on her as they struggled against each other.
After some time, he was growing tired, his moves sluggish from the lack of sleep the night prior. At last Eragon saw the opening he was hoping for and knocked her back, sending her rolling to the ground, her sword sliding away from her. She bounced back to her feet, blinking rapidly, her chest heaving, and nodded before grabbing her sword which had wedged itself in between a small stone.
"You fought well," she said as she pulled her sword off of the ground, looking like she wanted to throw it at him.
"You fought just as good," said Eragon tiredly. She fought different than him, and though she had lost the match, she put up quite the fight. They weren't evenly matched but they were close. She must have had a skilled teacher, he thought knowing that the first time she wielded a sword was less than a year ago, and a very demanding one.
She nodded again and looked down at the sword, before sliding it in the scabbard she had abandoned on the ground before they began. "If you'll excuse me," she muttered not just to Eragon but to Selena as well as Brom, before walking quickly over pass Thorn and into the valley beyond. The ruby colored dragon stood and followed after her, his tail swishing across the grass as he walked.
After wiping off the hilt of Zar'roc, Eragon returned it to his bags. Then he sat down tiredly, thoroughly exhausted. He was sure that he would have no dreams of the woman that night.
What was your interest is now your haunt, said Saphira amusement mixed in with her concern. She snaked her head around to look at him, and blinked. Sleep well, little one.
Eragon didn't answer her, he couldn't seem to find the energy to. Listening briefly to the conversion Brom and Selena were having, he decided that what they talking about didn't concern him. He staggered to his bags and opened his bedroll. It seemed that the sparring had taken what was left of his energy and he had no more to give. He had hoped that sparring would do this and that he'd sleep heavily without the simplest of dreams, yet it did not seem to enough. He fell quickly to sleep, not remembering lying down, and slipped straight into a dream.
In his dream he saw the woman. She lay on a tattered mattress, unmoving, and for a moment he thought that she was died. The pale moonlight washed the color from the room and from her, with an unbearable clarity. Then her finger twitched and she shifted slightly, and he knew that she was still alive. He watched, unable to move, as she moved again, huddling herself closer to the wall, and felt as if he were about to be ill, his gut twisted wickedly turning his dinner against him. He felt an increasing premonition of doom. She didn't have long left, this he was certain of.
