Nope, this story was not abandoned, just pushed to the side. Updates will come infrequently, but I do intend to finish it.
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize from the Inheritance Cycle. However, Sloan's secret past belong to me, as well as my OC Salaya, and any other original material you do not recognize as canon.
Katrina balanced precariously upon a wooden stool, straining to reach the roof of her family's cottage. She was tip-toed, stretching as far as she could, and waving her feather duster around wildly. The spiderwebs clustered around the rafters lay just out of reach, taunting her.
Come on, come on.
Katrina stretched her arm as far as it could go, ignoring the aches this caused. The tip of the feather duster just brushed against the bellies of the lower spiderwebs and she took from it.. Grinning triumphantly, Katrina forced herself onto her toes. If only she could just reach a little higher...
CRE-AKK.
The wooden stool beneath Katrina suddenly gave out. She fell to the ground with a startled shriek, landing upon the ruined remnants of the stool. Katrina cursed as she stumbled off of it, wincing as she felt the splinters in her body dig ever deeper into her skin.
She glared up at the cobwebs, which hung tantalizingly overhead. Katrina could have sworn those stupid webs were laughing at her by the way they teased her so. The copper-haired woman used a steady stream of curses she had picked up from Ismira, forcing herself to pick the splinters from her skin and to clean up the remains of the wooden stool.
Whoever said housework was easy on the woman's body was sorely deluded, she thought as she tossed the splintery remnants into the still-burning fire.
Katrina grinned in satisfaction as she watched the irksome little stool burn in the flames. Aye, this form of vengeance upon her enemies suited her just fine. After watching the wood wither into mere ash, the young woman turned away from the fireplace and sought for a new task to occupy her.
Spotting the accursed feather duster upon the ground, Katrina felt an impulse to burn it as well. However, she was forced to grudgingly admit she couldn't burn everything in the house that displeased her, lest Sloan would come home to nothing but a pile of charred wood that had once been their cottage. She retrieved the duster, going about the rooms to clean the dust and cobwebs from them she could reach without the aid of the late stool.
As she dusted, Katrina allowed her mind to wander.
At first her thoughts went to Roran, as they always did. Her secret lover had been planning to propose to her for months now, but had been unable to. His farm and savings were burned to the ground and his family either missing or dead. Roran was currently staying with Horst, helping the blacksmith with odd-jobs or else going hunting to gather meat. He was working as hard as he could, trying to win Sloan's approval. It didn't help that her father was a hard man to please and would not be impressed by an orphaned young man with only a desecrated farm to his name trying to marry his precious daughter.
Sloan.
Katrina's thoughts wandered to her father.
Sloan had always been cold and anti-social on the surface, distrusting of strangers of wary even of his closest friends. Carvahall despised him, fearful of his harsh attitude and sharp words. But he had been warm and loving to Ismira and, when she had been born, Katrina. Sloan had always treated them like princesses, and only desired what was best for them.
Then Ismira had fallen into the raging water of Igualda Falls, and Sloan had been forever changed. He no longer smiled or laughed, even in the privacy of his own home, and was distant even with Katrina. There was a bitter air about him, only further convincing the villagers that he had only evil intents at heart.
Katrina smiled, thinking, But lately he doesn't frown or scowl so much.
Sloan had changed in the past few days since his daughter had spied him heading off into the Spine. He had been in uncharacteristically high spirits since then, opening up to Katrina more often and even tolerating his customers more. There was a sparkle in his gray eyes that had not been present since Ismira's death and more coppery-brown in his hair than gray. Her father had even begun to lose some of the weight that he had been beginning to gather around his mid-section, making him look even more like the man Katrina remembered from her early childhood.
Katrina had not been the only one to notice these changes. All of Carvahall knew of Sloan's mysterious excursions and all had their outrageous theories of where he was going every day. The most prominent of these rumours was that Sloan was visiting a woman in the woods, a sort of secret lover, if you will.
Katrina didn't doubt that it was a woman; only such a person could bring out the tenderness in Sloan, and only a kindhearted and endearing woman at that. There were all sorts of rumours of who the identity of this mysterious woman, ranging from an unfaithful wife from Carvahall to a whore from Therinsford. Katrina knew her father well enough to know he would never stoop so low as to test the virture of another man's wife or employ a slattern. Part of her doubted he was even being that intimate with this person.
Whatever this woman was doing, Katrina supported her fully. Sloan was changing for the better and seemed more tolerant these days. Tolerant enough to talk to Roran about a marriage, perhaps...
Katrina halted, snapping out of her thoughts. Her absentminded dusting had brought her into Sloan's room and she instantly became frightened at the thought.
It wasn't as if Sloan had forbidden her to enter his room, but she knew her father was a man that valued his privacy. At the foot of his bed stood an ancient wooden chest that no one was allowed to open. Sloan had only said that the chest contained all that was left of his life from before having moved into Carvahall and what was inside was for his eyes only. Even Ismira had never seen the contents of the wooden chest. There was no lock upon it, as Sloan trusted her to mind her own business, but the temptation to peak inside was great.
When Katrina had been a child, she had often dreamed about that chest. She had entertained thoughts that her father had once been a great thief and the chest contained all of the gold and jewels he had stolen. Or perhaps he was a king from distant country, and in his trunk he hid his crown and scepter.
Now she was alone in the cottage, Sloan miles off into the Spine, with only his wooden chest for company. Those childhood fantasies flooded back to her, as well as her previous curiosity.
A small peak inside wouldn't harm anyone. What Father doesn't know won't hurt him...
Unable to resist the temptation, Katrina dropped her feather duster and leaned over the chest. Wrenching off the top, she peered inside, expecting to see something fantasticly wonderful.
Would there be gold or jewels? Or maybe a crown or a scepter or....old clothes?
Katrina frowned as she gazed down at what could only be the tunics she had darned for her father only a few days ago. She pawed through the clothes, rummaging through them to see if anything had been hidden inside them. However, she found nothing out of the ordinary. Katrina pulled away, ashamed of her actions.
How could I have done that? Father trusted me with this chest and I violated his trust! There wasn't anything in this stupid trunk aside from old-
The young woman froze, feeling her hand brush against something hard.
That was definitely not clothes!
Trembling with anticipation, Katrina wrested some oddly-shaped package from the bottom of the chest. She carefully unwrapped it and gasped at what she saw.
An old and battered sheath, with the sword still inside. Hands shaking, the copper-haired woman grabbed the blade by its hilt and slowly pulled it out of its scabbard to examine it...
Impossible!
Katrina had seen swords before. The rude soldiers of the Empire that sometimes wandered into Carvahall had blades, some of which they had proudly showed her as if they thought she would be impressed at some rusted and blood-stained weapon.
This sword however, was far different than the ones the soldiers have waved in her face.
It was slender and its point as sharp as a dragon's fang. The blade of the sword was dark gray like a storm cloud, and its hilt a brilliant silver. An iron-colored jewel was embedded in the pommel. Katrina gaped at the blade, running a finger along the strange black symbol etched into the hilt.
What had Sloan been hiding from her?
Though it was almost noon, mist still clung to the earth, especially in the wilderness near Igualda Falls. The fog was so dense it made seeing difficult and seeped into his clothes and made him cold. It was too dismal a day for Roran's liking, yet the hunt he was on had to continue today before the deer moved on. Albriech and Baldor, Horst's two sons, walked along beside him. The trio made no effort to remain silent, as they were positive that the deer had moved on further into the Spine the night before.
Albriech suddenly stopped, bending down to examine a pair of tracks in the ground. "Damn," he muttered. "Our hunch was confirmed. The herd of deer that Father spotted here earlier moved on."
Roran joined the other hunter, frowning when he too saw the hoof-prints that were all leading west into the Spine. "Oh, well," he sighed. "We might as well head back. With all the noise we'd made, stomping about this forest, all of the animals in the area must have run off."
Albriech sighed. "I'd rather not slave away in my father's forge all day, Roran." At a sudden idea, he smirked. "Do you know how mad old Sloan has been sneaking off lately? Rumour has it that some old broad is getting intimate with him somewhere near this area!"
Roran eyed his friend. "You really want to see Sloan like that?"
"No! I just want to see what crazy slattern would even think of touching the like of that!"
The other man smirked wickedly. "That does sound more entertaining than spending hours in that hot forge."
Baldor, the kinder of Horst's two sons, broke in worriedly. "Are you sure you two want to do that? Sloan's personal life is none of our business and we have no right to spy on him and his lover like that! Besides," Baldor paled and glanced around as if they were being watched, lowering his voice to a panicked whisper, "do you really want to invoke the wrath of the ghost like that?"
Roran blinked in confusion. "Whose ghost?"
"The Ghost of the Spine!" Baldor hissed back. "Legend has it that one of Galbatorix's Forsworn and his dragon died in a storm above Igualda Falls one hundred years ago! The ghost of the Forsworn's dragon still haunts the area where she died, killing all who are unfortunate enough to stumble into her path!"
Albriech scoffed. "That's just an old myth Father used to tell us at bedtime so that we didn't wander off into the Spine alone," he replied.
"But did one of Galbatorix's Riders and their dragon really die here?" Roran asked.
"Aye," Albriech reluctantly conceded. "According to my Father some Forsworn member named Alir and his dragon really did perish in a storm on the way to Cenuon. Their bodies were never found, but the mad trappers that practically live in the Spine claimed they've seen the ghost of Alir's dragon haunting the area around the Falls."
A low growl suddenly cut through the mist and three hunters whirled about, stringing their bows and looking wildly around.
"What was that?" Albriech demanded in a trembling voice.
"The Ghost of the Spine!" Baldor exclaimed in a terrified whisper. "She's come to kill us!"
"Quiet!" Roran snapped. He strained to hear beyond the distant roaring of the Falls and his own thumping heart. "Let me listen."
The same growl sounded again, this time louder. A scraping sound came from around them, like that of scales rubbing against rock. Petrified, the hunters listened intently as the frightening sounds came ever closer to where they stood. Finally, Roran felt something breathing down his neck and all three spun around to gaze up in terror at what had been stalking them.
Two ice-blue eyes glared at them from out of the mist, located very high above their heads. The ethereal shape of something very massive appeared in the fog, something connected to the pair of eyes. The spectral dragon let loose a blood-curdling roar that turned their blood to ice and vibrated their bones.
Screaming, all three hunters dropped their weapons and fled back in the direction of Carvahall.
The Ghost of the Spine roared again and sent a plume of silver fire chasing after them. Roran ran as fast he could, barely avoiding the flames, sparing only a few quick seconds to give the phantom one last glance over his shoulder.
The Ghost of the Spine remained where she was, staring after them. Suddenly, the fog around her withdrew, revealing a humanoid figure sitting upon her back. Alir's ghost glared at him with chilling gray eyes and raised his hand as if to cast a spell-
"NO!" Roran focused back on fleeing for his life, sending prayers to all the gods he knew of that he might survive this encounter.
Now he truly believed in ghosts.
Salaya gave a raspy chuckle, blue eyes shining in an amusement as she watched the area where the three terrified hunters had disappeared. That shall teach those pesky youths to heed their elders' warnings and stay out of the Spine. The ghost of that scary yet attractive dragon might just get them the next time!
Alir smiled, trying to look reproachful at his dragon for such crude methods, but his eyes betrayed his joy at getting some sort of revenge upon the bothersome Roran. "Indeed," he replied. His bemused smile quickly morphed into a frown, however, as he thought of the consequences his actions might have. "Now all of Carvahall shall know about the 'ghosts' that haunt the Spine. Do you think Galbatorix shall hear of this encounter and send someone to investigate?"
Salaya snorted. All of the stories the King must have heard of phantoms haunting areas where Riders and dragons met their deaths must have surely bored him by now. As far as he is concerned, this is yet another tale those made hunters cooked up in some vain effort to get attention.
Alir nodded thoughtfully. "And the elders of the village will just assume Roran and his companions imagined something. This mist is very eerie, after all. Still, Roran is as persistent as Garrow was. There is no doubt that he won't come back here to investigate further once his initial fear wears off, if only to retrieve his bow and arrows."
I shall not stop seeing you just because Roran grows suspicious, if that is what you are asking, the gray dragon said hotly. If he continues to pursue the matter, than perhaps he should disappear all together. The Ghost of the Spine supposedly takes lives every day. Perhaps it is time she finally instills real fear into the hearts of the villagers.
Alir chuckled, seeing right through Salaya's frightening facade. He patted her on the neck and mused, "Do you think anyone would notice if Roran and I went into the woods one day and only one came back?"
The gray dragon remained silent, unable to tell if her Rider was serious or not. The playful twinkle in his eye was all she needed to confirm her suspicions.
Next chapter: Katrina confronts her father on the matter of the sword. And Roran, deciding to take some advice for a change, goes to talk to Sloan on the matter of his daughter's hand in marriage. Oh, is this going to be fun. -evil grin-