Her Own Legend
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Chapter Three
'Spell'
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Disclaimer- I do not own Danny Phantom or Eragon (especially pages seven and eight). I own some of the characters in chapter one, but that's it.
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Not a lot of stuff happening here, mostly filler. It was around the length I wanted it to be and it was a good place to end it, so I just did. Anyway, I hope you enjoy. ;)
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The mud had been all but washed off by the pouring rain, and the stone's bright orange color shone bright and clear. Unfortunately, this also had the effect of making the stone incredibly slippery, and Dani dropped it.
The stone fell to the concrete floor below...
And didn't break.
Her heart in her mouth, Dani bent down and examined the stone for any cracks. There were none, but something was written in a faded-almost-washed-out kind of print.
"Ganga Shur'tugal vinr alfakyn?"
There was a flash of bright light, and Dani vanished.
And so did the thermos containing Vlad.
Danielle Jamie Fenton was no stranger to pain.
Her first conscious thought was pain, as the stasis pod she had been 'born' in had opened, and she had fallen out, cutting herself sharply on the hard ground. Melting- that was painful. Even if it was only her feet before she could get it under control again.
But she didn't think she had ever experienced pain like she was feeling now (And she hoped she never would again either). Every inch of her skin was on fire, her chest felt like it was being squeezed- it got so bad that she couldn't breath. The edges of her vision started to turn black, but just when she felt she must take a breath or die- It was over.
She found herself on the ground (grass, she noted, different from the concrete she had been surrounded by mere minutes before), crouched over on all fours, breathing heavily.
She felt sick, and a moment later she opened her mouth and retched on the grass. Her arms trembled with a sudden weakness, and finally she couldn't control herself any longer- she crumpled to the ground, out cold.
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Although Dani didn't know it, she wasn't on Earth any more. The words on the stone had been a spell, designed to transport the speaker and the stone to the last remaining good rider and elf friend in Alagaesia- Brom.
But unfortunately this had failed, and the spell (Which was not designed to transport the user all the way through another universe) had run out of power just before she reached Carvahall, depositing the girl in the Spine, just outside the village.
But Dani didn't know any of this, and more importantly, neither did the boy standing in front of her, an arrow knocked on his bow, his gaze never leaving her face, ready to let his arrow fly at a moment's notice, his heart beating madly, scared (weather he wanted to admit it or not) of this girl who had dropped out of the sky and ruined his hunting- for the second time in less than an hour.
-Flashback-
Eragon knelt in a bed of trampled reed grass and scanned the tracks with a practiced eye. The prints told him that the deer had been in the meadow only a half hour before. Soon they would bed down. His target, a small doe with a pronounced limp in her left forefoot, was still with the herd. He was amazed she had made it so far without a wolf or bear catching her.
The sky was clear and dark, and a slight breeze stirred the air. A silvery cloud drifted over the mountains that surrounded him, its edges glowing with ruddy light cast from the harvest moon cradled between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from between two peaks. Streams flowed down the mountains from stolid glaciers and glistening snowpacks. A brooding mist crept along the valley's floor, almost thick enough to obscure his feet.
Eragon was fifteen, less than a year from manhood. Dark eyebrows rested above his intense brown eyes. His clothes were worn from work. A hunting knife with a bone handle was sheathed at his belt, and a buckskin tube protected his yew bow from the mist. He carried a wood-frame pack.
The deer had led him deep into the Spine, a range of untamed mountains that extended up and down the land of Alagaesia. Strange tales and men often came from these mountains, usually boding ill. Despite that, Eragon did not fear the Spine- he was the only hunter near Carvahall who dared track game deep into its craggy recesses.
It was the third night of the hunt, and his food was half gone. If he did not fell the doe, he would be forced to return home empty-handed. His family needed the meat for the rapidly approaching winter and could not afford to buy it in Carvahall.
Eragon stood with quiet assurance in the dusky moonlight then strode into the forest toward a glen where he was sure the deer would rest. The trees blocked the sky from view and cast feathery shadows on the ground. He looked at the tracks only occasionally; he knew the way.
At the glen, he strung his bow with a sure touch then drew three arrows and knocked one, holding the others in his left hand. The moonlight revealed twenty or so motionless lumps where the deer lay in the grass. The doe he wanted was at the edge of the herd, her left foreleg stretched out awkwardly.
Eragon slowly crept closer, keeping the bow ready. All his work of the past three days had led to this moment. He took a last steadying breath and- an explosion shattered the night.
The herd bolted. Eragon lunged forward, racing through the grass as a fiery wind surged past his cheek. He slid to a stop and loosed an arrow at the bounding doe. It missed by a finger's breadth and hissed into darkness. He cursed and spun around, instinctively knocking another arrow.
Behind him, where the deer had been, smoldered a large circle of grass and trees. Many of the pines stood bare of their needles. The grass outside the charring was flattened. A wisp of smoke curled in the air, carrying a burnt smell. In the center of the blast radius laid a polished blue stone. Mist snaked across the scorched area and swirled insubstantial tendrils over the stone.
Eragon watched for danger for several long minutes, but the only thing that moved was the mist. Cautiously, he released the tension from his bow and moved forward. Moonlight cast him in a pale shadow as he stopped before the stone. He nudged it with an arrow, and then jumped back. Nothing happened, so he warily picked it up.
Nature had never polished a stone as smooth as this one. Its flawless surface was dark blue, except for thin veins of with that spider webbed across it. The stone was cool and frictionless under his fingers, like hardened silk. Oval and about a foot long, it weighed several pounds, though it felt lighter than it should have. Eragon found the stone both beautiful and frightening. Where did it come from? Does it have a purpose? Then a more disturbing thought came to him: Was it sent here by accident, or am I meant to have it? If he had learned anything from the old stories, it was to treat magic, and those who used it, with great caution.
But what should I do with the stone? It would be tiresome to carry, and there was a chance it was dangerous. It might be better to leave it behind. A flicker of indecision ran through him, and he almost dropped it, bit something stayed his hand. At the very least, it might pay for some food, he decided with a shrug, tucking the stone into his pack.
He would have left then, but something made him turn, and when he did, he almost gasped in shock.
A girl lay unconscious on the ground, holding a stone like the one that had just appeared, and which he now carried, except it was orange, not blue. She looked around two years younger than him, and had long black hair.
This is too much, though Eragon.
-End flashback-