Please Read and Review
AN: Had to reupload since it was not showing up.
The Swarm's Host
It took a few days for Eragon to leave the Horst's house and another few days for him to not see stalking shadows slinking around him. Fear was an unusual emotion to have hovering over him. The closest thing to such a feeling was when his Aunt passed so many years ago. He was already grieving about his place in the world, where he belonged if his own mother and father had abandoned him. He knew better now, but simply the uncertainty of it all kept him up at night, drawing his eyes up to the sea of stars. This time, however, he couldn't bare seek out the sight of the forest if his life depended on it.
The questions were unending this time as he tried to scour every little detail he knew about the world, whether it came from tall tales, ominous tidings, or harsh words. He had little knowledge of what went on outside of Carvahall, even if he heard plenty of others talk of the empire, the Urgals, the rebels, and dragon riders. Not one had ever talked of a being or beast so disturbing, so gut wrenching – it made him sick to think such a thing was real.
Was it real though or did he just have a twisted imagination? He tried to believe in such a hope, toying with the possibility that he had imagined every little detail of the grey mottled lizard/but thing, especially the voice that so eagerly demeaned him. He wanted to believe his head was in the clouds, that he had tried to explain some of his own sickness with delusions.
And yet, every time he looked out into the forest, the sight alone drew dread into him. His body shook, arms shivering and pupils dilating, as he half expected the thing to rush out from the forest and snatch him. The winter storm front brought in darker days and nights which stretched shadows far longer than they needed to be. He once liked the idea of lurking in the forest himself, but now there was no longer any welcoming beauty out there, only the prospect of a creature lurking about as it hunted.
And it was expecting him to return.
Eragon was definitely not about to trust the disturbing whisper. Garrow and Roran were none the wiser about his unusual situation, even while he was shaken up about staying at Horst's. They chalked it up to nervousness and they dropped it as soon as he rode back with them a few days later. A week later, things began to change.
"Eragon, I want you to take extra care now," Garrow said as he finally sat down at the dining table with his bowl of soup.
Eragon absentmindedly nodded, "Yes uncle, yes uncle."
"I'm serious. Some beasts are making a mess of things and I don't want you fainting like last week."
Eragon gulped down his warm soup, not connecting things until he heard what Garrow said, "What do you mean?"
"Take a look at your soup, you dope," Roran laughed, "That's deer meat. We found a dead one out by the river north with the largest bite mark I've ever seen."
"The kill was fresh enough for us to eat," Garrow remarked, "I don't know why It was abandoned with so much of it intact, but regardless, my warning still stands. Be careful, both of you. Something's out there."
Eragon suddenly lost his appetite with the warm meal. He took a few more sips and chewed on the tough meat, but he decided to not ask for seconds, much to Garrow's confused but silent stare. Roran simply took the extra portion, leaving Eragon to his thoughts as he went outside to work on the farm. He took his uncle's advice and felt a restlessness growing inside him.
No more hiding. He needed to know what that thing was and … maybe even kill it.
Chapter 5: A Long Time Coming
He got his chance a week later. The winter winds were dying down, leaving a snowed landscape. It was an endless white wonderland, but with the thought of the beast about, Eragon had little time to admire the sights. Roran's chisel needed repairs and Eragon volunteered to go with him on the pretense of being bored. It wasn't anything special, at least, on the surface.
Their walk was uneventful; Eragon preferred it that way. Every so often he took the time to look behind him, trying to see if anything was following. At least this time, he couldn't see anything … though Roran definitely noticed his odd behavior.
"Stop spinning so much, Eragon. You're going to make me dizzy at this rate."
Eragon scoffed, "I'm trying to keep us safe, Roran. If you have a problem with that, you can shove it."
"Fighting words then?" Roran laughed, "Think yourself a big man now that your birthday's close, eh?"
Eragon shook his head. He wasn't in the mood to fight, but Roran's antics were getting on his nerves more than usual. He chalked it up to a lack of sleep, but he had the sense and self-awareness to know what was really going on.
If only Roran knew, he thought, dragging his feet along angrily through the muck-ridden ground, Roran wouldn't be making jokes if he saw that thing's face.
They parted ways on Carvahall's outskirts, Roran going one way and Eragon heading the opposite direction. Brom's house was small. It looked more like a collection of logs rather than a proper house, though perhaps it was enough. As far as Eragon knew, Brom didn't farm like his family did. Brom didn't produce crops or even do much menial work around the village. He was usually gone for most of the months, returning only when he saw fit. He had supposedly returned a week before the traders and even told a tale of dragon riders, betrayal, and of Galbatorix himself. To think, Eragon had missed all of that just to be faced with monstrous creature.
As he approached the home, Eragon pondered what sort of questions he'd ask. How would he even ask about something he had only seen once and was constantly doubting every chance he got? Eragon shook just thinking about the beast, wondering if he should even ask. Perhaps talking about the beast was what made it real.
"What do you want, boy?"
Eragon whirled around towards the rasping voice. Brom stood, leaning on a gnarled staff. He was a tall figure, worn down by age as seen through his weathered clothes and white beard. He had a proud eagle nose that hooked down over his stern frown. Two strong eyes focused their attention on Eragon, deep-set and shadowed by a wrinkled brow.
Eragon blinked. The man was waiting for a reply and he just stood there like an idiot.
"To get information," Eragon replied, standing up a little straighter, "My cousin is getting his chisel fixed and I had free time. If you would have me, I'd like to ask a few questions."
"Hmph," Brom grunted and reached for the door, "Then ask away I suppose. Just don't take too much of my time."
Eragon followed the man in, smelling the heavy air as he felt a wave of old candle smoke and dense untouched dust rouse to life. The door closed quickly, shutting out the light. Even in the dark, however, Eragon made his way to his usual spot, a small footstool across from Brom's preferred chair. Brom dispelled the dark with a heavy spark in the fireplace. For the first time in a while, Eragon felt at ease.
Quiet dark places are always the best, Eragon casually thought.
"Now, what were your questions then?" Brom said, finally settling into his seat, "I didn't see you at my last gathering. Were you ill?"
"No," Eragon answered curtly, "It was something else – or … maybe it's related … I don't know."
Brom's patient glance seemed infinite as the warmth of the fireplace rolled over them. Eragon smiled, recalling the last time they had been doing the same thing. To think, only a month prior, he had inkling of a clue that his beast even existed. He was asking about dragons and dragon riders, old legends long passed. Now, he wondered, if he was stepping into something he shouldn't.
"Are there other creatures like dragons?" Eragon started off, "Something like a dragon or-or maybe more powerful than one?"
Brom snorted, "Quite the question. What's brought this on, Eragon?"
Eragon pursed his lips, "Just curious is all."
"Curious, HAH, what an age," Brom chuckled before growing inquisitive. He thought to himself for a moment, forcing Eragon to guess what the man could have been thinking of, "None. I've never heard of such a beast or being. Dragons are not simply predators atop the natural order; they are truly magnificent beings that have propelled man, elves, and dwarves forward. Nothing could ever compare."
Eragon nodded though he wasn't very satisfied with the answer, "If they were so powerful, how were the dragon riders defeated so single handedly?"
"Galbatorix wasn't winning single handedly. He had his own dragon and his own riders," Brom grew serious, "But away from such a grim topic, let's discuss something else."
"Sure," he shrugged, not really understanding why but deciding to remain respectful. He still needed some sort of answer after all, "Are there … creatures or spells that make you experience nightmares?"
Brom nodded, "Plenty. There are grim shapers that feast on your dreams, dulling mists that make you relive your worst experiences, Razac which try to paralyze you before-"
Pointless and raw, Eragon thought to himself, though he didn't know why he used the word raw. He shook his head; he was getting off track.
"What about – uh – monsters that speak with you or haunt you? Are there beasts who talk like people?"
"Again, there are plenty tall tales and very real examples that do so."
"… would they ever be as intelligent as a dragon?"
Brom paused again, though this time he looked more confused than inquisitive. Eragon wasn't surprised. He was certainly asking far from the usual topics. Eragon preferred history over beasts as stories were where his imagination could run wild. To learn of beasts felt more analytical, studious even. He couldn't bare imagine the thought of pouring over texts or examining bodies like a scholar, though even if he did, he had never learned to read.
"Is there a reason, you're asking me this? Are you experiencing something?"
Eragon quickly shook his head. He's better off not knowing. Brom didn't need to be caught up in this business, "No, not at all. I just … had some nightmares is all and I was wondering."
"Care to explain?" Brom said, shifting in his seat, "Nightmares can be as dangerous as any ailment, if left unchecked."
"Oh, believe me. I'm being very cautious," Eragon said, "I … I suppose I could talk about it."
Eragon cleared his throat, thinking of what to say. Brom was the unusual storyteller, so telling him about the beast surely wouldn't have brought any ill will or talk of insanity. On the other hand, Eragon had a sneaking sensation crawling up his body. If he talked about the beast … would it try to hurt people? He felt an itch on his hand, the very itch and marking he covered up now. The feeling he had, the voice in his mind as it talked with him – did it read his mind? It felt so alien of a concept, and yet remembering what he felt that morning was impossible to forget. Even now, in a place devoid of windows or openings, Eragon felt watched by eyes beyond the scope of the room he was in.
Can it hear me? He asked himself before he turned to face Brom.
"Are there creatures that can bond with humans. To be clear, I don't mean connections. I mean bonds built of magic or … something more. Sort of like how you said dragons did with their rides."
Brom shook his head, "First nightmares and now bonds of magic. You make it sound as though you've sold your soul, boy."
Eragon gave a nervous chuckle, "Yes, that … that'd be silly, right?"
"I wouldn't call that silly. I'd call that dangerous," Brom tilted his head, "What are you hiding in that hand?"
Eragon blinked and looked to where Brom had stared. He was looking at his bandaged limb and for a moment he panicked, "Ah, I just … uh, I hurt my hand. Uncle Garrow got me some soothing balm for it and wrapped it some while ago."
Bad. He's starting to ask questions.
"The wrappings look old," Brom said leaning in. Eragon tried to pull away, but Brom's eyes saw what they needed to see, "Eragon, you need to change them out."
He needs to mind his own business. Why does he keep prying?
"I know. I'll deal with it when I get home," he spat, though he was surprised by how defensive he felt for his hand. Brom noticed as well, giving him a puzzled look.
"Eragon, you're acting very strange. Are you sure there's nothing to discuss?"
The older man's eyes were gentle, but stern. He felt judged, almost enough to say something to the man, to profess his anxiety filled week. Alas, Eragon pulled away again. His own gut seemed to pull into itself, like he was being swallowed whole by a tenacious shiver. Eragon knew Brom wanted to help, but now the young man questioned if he could be helped at all.
Nothing to discuss.
He froze. Finally, in his silence, Eragon had felt it. It was the inkling of a foreign presence slithering behind him. He turned around, but found nothing physically there and yet, something weighed on him.
"Eragon?"
He suddenly looked about for his things.
"I think I should go."
That only alarmed Brom further, standing up before he questioned again, "Eragon, whatever is going on, I'm here to listen. Please let me help."
"It's fine. It was just … curiosity, that's all."
Eragon went for the door, but turned back to the old hermit, trying to give a reassuring smile. All he could muster was a nervous quirk of the lips. Eragon felt the words die in his throat before he rushed outside.
The walk home went quiet, though unlike their arrival, the exit felt far more somber. Roran looked like he had something to say, but Eragon wouldn't entertain even the idea of a conversation when he was growing ever more paranoid.
It spoke to me, he thought to himself. Of course, he wasn't entirely sure if that was the case. He hadn't necessarily heard the creature's voice, but the creature's influence had been – what was the word – hovering over him. The word conjured up images of spectral sheets and gangly untouchables, floating about in the wind. He might have laughed at such a sight, but dwelling too long left him seeing the monster in his mind's eye again, the sheets turning into the mottled skin, the slimy sheen eating at the ghostly fabrics before it slithered away again.
Was that it? He wondered, Was that it watching me or was it just me?
He took a quick gander about, only to lock eyes on his cousin. He looked rather amused but this time, Roran was keeping his mouth shut. He wasn't angry … just being patient.
"What?" Eragon snapped.
Roran quirked his brow, almost in jest.
I'm getting tired of this nonsense. I wish he'd just leave me be.
Eragon tried to continue but before Eragon could open his mouth, he suddenly felt his cousin's arms embrace him. The older sibling's affection was a seemingly alien concept, as though the last hug had been a lifetime ago. As, soon as Eragon felt his cousin's hug, however, he began to loosen up. No words. He didn't need to speak.
"Eragon, so I just talked with a strange from Therinsford at Horst's today," Roran pulled away. The shift in tone was apparent, but Eragon read the room. Roran wouldn't push. He appreciated that.
"A stranger?"
"Mhmm. He wanted Horst to forge some sockets, but he needs some other work so he's hiring me."
Now it was Eragon's turn to be curious. Therinsford was a far place, no bigger than Carvanhall, but certainly less homely overall. It was too open to feel safe.
"Wait, if you're going to Therinsford, that means you'll be leaving."
Roran waved it away, "Yea yea, I'll talk with father about that. He'll understand."
"More like, he'll give me all your work," Eragon joked, but stopped from pushing further as Roran poked his side.
"Oh, shut up. You can handle it," Roran shook his head, "That wasn't what I wanted to talk about though. The stranger, Dempton, he mentioned seeing something strange while coming our way. Get this, dead deer hanging off a tree branch."
That caught Eragon's attention as both the words conjured up the images of mangled deer as well as a different sight entirely. He couldn't put his finger to it, but for some reason, Eragon had some blurry premonition of the sight. It wasn't dream like. It just came in a flash. An image of deer bones with barely any meat left on it was only there for a split second before it vanished.
"It was the strangest thing. Somehow some deer corpse was hanging off a branch and the thing was nearly bones."
"Don't go near it," Eragon suddenly commanded. Roran snorted.
"Funny, I was just about to say the same thing to you."
Eragon grumbled but nodded, "True, very true."
"Is something wrong?"
Eragon looked to Roran again. He had Brom's concern all over his face, the sight starting to sicken Eragon. Alas, he had enough self-control to stop himself from having wandering thoughts. Roran was just concerned is all … as was Brom.
"Yes," Eragon said, "I might have gotten Brom upset and worried. I was being strange and I left his cabin when I felt uncomfortable asking anything else."
"You left on your own accord?" Roran laughed, "Okay, now I know it's serious. Is it because of that … episode of your's. I've never known someone like you to faint."
"Roran, please, I'm being serious."
"As am I. You can't keep dancing around your problem. At least try to make light of it before you try to face it head on. We're not making light of anything that's happened to you. We're trying to help you do what needs to be done … whatever the hell it even is."
Eragon paused, closing his eyes before they continued on. Roran's words struck home as he kept his eyes away. A fair, few minutes later, however, and Eragon felt obligated to answer.
"Thank you. You're right, Roran."
Roran nodded, "Glad I can help."
And thus, there was quiet all the way back home.
He waited till the dead of night to make his move. It probably wasn't the smartest, given the cold and the dark, but Eragon was too impatient to wait for some perfect opportunity. He slipped out with enough heavy-set cloth to keep himself warm. After all, he dared not entertain the possibility of blackened digits and frost-bitten limbs.
Directionless as he was at first, he had some clue as to where to go. Roran's conversation meant the creature had wandered southward, towards the west. Nevertheless, Eragon's feet seemed to take its own path, trudging along towards the darkened woods he knew the creature crawled. It was maddening the more he thought about it, but Eragon wasn't about to let himself go mad.
He was far too impatient for such a possibility.
Eragon spotted the first animal corpse soon after his trek, the corpse of a rabbit twisted about. It was mangled horribly and while eaten down to the bone, there was plenty of the body left for a true animal too consume.
Not enough meat. Lacking, Eragon stopped, checking the body. He was prepared for the voice this time.
"Lacking?" he tried to ask, but the voice didn't respond. He tried to call again in his mind, but all he received back was the eerie chill around him. Eragon shook his head; at least he was on the right track.
When he saw a pack of strung up dead wolves, however, his stomach wished he wasn't. The scene was horrifying. Organs were pulled out every which way while bones folded in manners Eragon couldn't verbalize himself. He swore he saw one of the bodies folded in half, but as he took a closer look, he realized … the wolf wasn't a wolf. There was no bone or flesh, just an empty husk of fur. It was as though every other part of the beast had been sucked out and left empty.
Melted from the inside. Dissolved. Consumed.
The words were unknown to him one moment and experienced the next. He could almost see the creature lording over a dead wolf before it did what it had to in order to empty out the wolf. He shook the sight out of him, holding his bow ever tightly.
Eragon didn't know how long he took to follow the trail. He wondered why such a path had not yet been discovered, but he felt an answer reach him; the bodies had been moved. It was expecting him. Eragon shook at the thought but kept his confidence with his weapon and his own words. He was being haunted, not hunted. It was following him, watching him. Why? He couldn't let himself be afraid anymore. He had to act.
Quiet descended up on him as he came into an open clearing. The wind seemed to stop howling and anything that typically made a sound in the deep forest went dead silent. How many bodies were there? How many creatures had the thing slain just to achieve this silence? He couldn't smell as well in the cold, but what he could take in was horrid. The trees in this desolate grove was covered in a sticky black sap, most likely dried blood mixed with some other bodily fluid.
Rustling branches snapped his attention towards its direction, bringing his gaze upwards. He couldn't see it at first, thought it was the wind. There, nestling between branches and snaking about in the dark, the worm like monster slithered forth, it's body now grown substantially from last he saw it. Eragon shook for a moment, shivered in the dark before he found stability in his own voice.
"I came here! What do you want?"
The monster pulled itself upwards with its two-front claw like appendages. Its eyeless gaze leered down at him as the grey skin glistened in the moon … and it gave off an ear-piercing screech.
Finally … arrived … I've waited ... too long for this.