The chain rattled. At first Walker didn't understand why the chain was rattling for there was no wind but then he saw her. Abigail. The chain was attached to the rocky ceiling a hundred feet above with Abigail suspended by her wrists over an abyss at the other end. She struggled to climb up the chain but her arms weren't strong enough to pull her whole body upward. Blood oozed from her wrists where she had been chafed by the cold metal. There was a look in her eyes that he had never seen before. Fear.

There was no way of knowing but both of them knew that the chain was going to break free from the ceiling any second.

"Walker," Abigail cried out to him. "Walker, help me! Help me! Don't let me fall! Please, do something. Please. Please, brother. Don't let me–." Her voice was strangled by her sobs of desperation.

"You don't have to worry. I'll save you. I promise. I won't let you down." he told her.

As he stood up he became aware of where he was. Walker was on a ledge that jutted precariously outward into the abyss. He turned around and searched for anything of value but there was nothing but rock. No. There has to be something. She can't die. I won't let her.

"WALKER!"

Her piercing scream attacked him with the shivers. He whirled around and was thankful to see that Abigail still hung in the air. Their eyes met and he was surprised by the way she looked at him. It wasn't a look of desperation, or of fright. Her expression was accusatory, blaming. The knot in Walker's stomach that had been laying low for the past few days tightened and convulsed. The guilt that came upon him was too much for him to bear.

He opened his mouth to speak.

SNAP!

The chain finally broke and Abigail was plunged into the abyss.

"NO!" Walker yelled.

He ran forward and jumped over the ledge after her into the abyss. There had been no thought about jumping; he had just done it. All that he could remember was his love for her. About how he would go to the ends of the earth or to the bottom of this abyss to save her if that was what it took. He had failed her once. He could not fail her again.

A white flash blinded him and the next thing he knew he was standing in a house watching a middle-aged Abigail as she washed the dishes. In the doorway stood a shrouded figure, whom Walker knew was Abigail's husband without a doubt. The man charged in and grabbed Abigail by the arm, yanked, and hurled her into the wall. He grabbed her and started to beat her brutally.

Walker ran toward her but he did not move. He doubled his speed and put all of his energy into running but he still didn't get any closer. In fact the scene got farther and farther away from him until he could see it no more.

Next, a sequence of images and scenes clouded his view. They were of Abigail's life. He saw her getting married, having children, taking care of house, and getting beaten by her bastard of a husband. Even when the images were of Abigail with her children Abigail's face was still dark and haunted by the deep sorrow etched into her skin. The spirit that she had once had that Walker had always used to see in her was shattered and cast into oblivion.

Finally, he was projected into one last scene. He was in the middle of a meadow with the mountains of the Spine climbing toward the sky in the distance. Before him was a grave.

His heart plummeted.

There were no markings on the grave; there didn't have to be. He knew whose it was.

He dropped to his knees in front of it and words started to tumble out of him."I'm sorry. It's all my fault, Abby. And I can't fix it." He gulped to unclench his throat. There was more to say. "I doomed you to this wretched life. Not only did I doom you, but I spat in your face. I've never understood how a person could forgive someone for all the horrible things they had done to them in the past. I don't understand . . . I don't understand how you could forgive me. I'm not going to ask you to try either." He took a deep breath and said, "I don't deserve to be forgiven."

Walker looked back up at the grave. Nothing happened. "I know you're there. I can't just be talking to a rock."

The grave lay still. But of course it did. It was made out of rock. Walker couldn't change the past or the future just like he couldn't change the rock of the grave into something else. Time was set in stone. The truth of that statement was what scared Walker the most.

Walker woke up back in his tent in the plains miles away from his home and Abigail. His hands and underarms were slimy with his perspiration. His fear had sent a quick jolt of adrenalin through his body which had struck a sharp pain in his head producing a headache that would last for quite a while.

Ingothold woke from where he slept in the crook of Walker's arm from the stiffening of Walker's body and their connection which told him that his rider was not all right. The purple dragon lifted his head and surveyed his partner-in-life carefully. He was not yet an old enough dragon to projected actual sentences from his mind to Walker's but Walker still knew that the dragon was worried about him through their touch. Walker rubbed Ingothold's snout and neck and the warmth and realness of his scales abated Walker's nerves but did not diminish them completely.

"She's back. And more haunting than ever," said Walker to Ingothold.

While staying in the Hall back in Carvahall, Walker had been bombarded by dreams of Abigail. The nightmares had made his blood run quickly but the brutally tiring training secessions with Vesta had helped him manage to always go back to sleep. Once they had hit the rode, his mind had started to be occupied by his excitement of seeing all of the new scenery and places and also by his curiosity for what laid ahead. Abigail had been pushed to the borders of his mind and he had forgotten her. Until now.

The dreams he had back in the Hall had been nothing compared to this one. This one stunk with its realness. Everything in the dream had felt real, and most would probably become Abigail's reality, but most important, Walker did not regret a single word he had said. Many of the traders that would come into town would also tell stories and in those stories people's relationships would fit into place so easily. In many of the stories' endings one of the people, who had betrayed the others or had done something harmful, would ask for the hero's forgiveness and the hero would grant it. Those parts of the stories were the ones that would stick in Walker's brain for days afterwards and bother him to his core. How can someone forgive a person for doing such evil things they had done to them and to other helpless people? It doesn't seem right. Shouldn't they have to pay for what they have done?

Ingothold rubbed his snout against Walker's arm but other than that he gave no reply.

I need Vesta, Walker thought.

She knew the answers to all such questions and in the past she had been able to sooth Walker's nerves. Vesta was very wise, a result from being alive for a couple of centuries. She certainly has the wisdom of the ages. If anyone could make sense of his guilt, it would be she.

He peered out through the flap of his tent. The sun was just beginning to rise but already a few people were up and about as they prepared for another day's journey. A grim demeanor emanated from everyone. Walker wondered why.

Walker put on his boots and Ingothold crawled onto his shoulders. He walked out into the fresh chill air of a new dawning day. The scent of the plains and the sound of the rushing Anora River were the same as the previous day but in the camp something had changed over night. Walker could feel it.

He walked through the camp searching for Vesta. He didn't bother asking where she was because the people didn't look to be too helpful at the moment. Eventually, he found her huddled in a circle with some others with their backs turned to him.

Right before he called out to her, Walker caught himself as he saw what they were huddled around. It was an Urgal. The Urgal was tied with his back against a pole staked into the ground. A bloody slash ran across his forehead, over his left temple, and down his neck. He looked to be in hysterics. The muscles in the Urgal's arms bulged as the pushed against the rope around him but he was left with no reward for all of his struggles. The Urgal was shouting but his hoarse voice didn't carry far. As the group of people stood around him, they tried to find out what to do with him.

It felt wrong to Walker to be watching this private discussion go on. He had not been privy to this information yet so it was wrong to eavesdrop. Still, he made no move to leave. But he did hide behind a barrel. The Urgal's voice was so hoarse that his words blended together and faded out and in so Walker had to strain his ears to make out his hysteric words.

"He was flying in the night sky. We . . . we had to get away. He had come back to enslave us for sure . . . following the Dark King in his footsteps. My race could not be condemned again to that fate. All of the stories . . . I had heard. No. We ran . . . far away. We could not get caught. No. . . . not by him . . . the Kingkiller." Those last two words had come out so quietly Walker questioned whether he had heard them correctly.

The Kingkiller. Walker knew that was one of Eragon Shadeslayer's many names that he had inherited after killing King Galbatorix, but there was no reason for him to come back to Alagaësia especially to enslave the Urgals. Eragon was a good person, not evil. The Urgal must be mistaken.

One of the men standing around the Urgal crouched down in front of him. Walker leaned forward pressing against the barrels. "We caught you running crazily through our camp. You injured two of our men. How can we know that you were truly running away from this Kingkiller and not targeting us?" said the man.

"I swear . . . I wasn't attacking you. We . . . Urgals . . . may raid your cities . . . but we would never harm a Dragon Rider. Such a thought would rain down endless shame upon you and your dare you accuse me so?" The Urgal's face contorted and he spitted onto the man's face.

The man jerked back in alarm but Walker could not see his face. Spitting on a person was one of the most dishonorable things you could do to them. Anyone would understand if the man lost his temper. And lose his temper he did. The man grabbed the Urgal by one of his horns and yanked his head back exposing his neck and pressing a knife to it.

Vesta raised her hand out before her silently telling the enraged man to yield. The man drew away and sheathed his knife. She glanced behind her shoulder for a brief second and her and Walker's eyes met before she turned back to the prisoner. She knew that he was here.

"What did this Kingkiller look like?" Vesta asked the Urgal.

"I only saw him from afar but I am sure it was he." The Urgal's voice was getting fainter and fainter. Walker tipped the barrels precariously so he could lean even farther between them and hear the Urgal speak. "He was riding on his dragon so far up in the sky you could assume them to be birds. They plunged down toward us and as they got closer I could see the color of the dragon. It was—."

Thump!

The barrels that Walker had been hiding against slipped from his fingers and tumbled to the ground with Walker and Ingothold following behind. The dragon squeaked sharply by instinct which only added to the noise causing everyone to turn and stare at them. Vesta, of course, was the only one not surprised. Walker's face was cherry red as he got up off the ground, mumbled some apologies, and tried to easily escape from he would think back on that moment in the future, he'd think that his escape could have been quite smooth compared to what it ended up being like because of the Urgal.

The Urgal started to shake his head madly and fight his bonds. "Murderer! Thief! Will-breaker! You steal ourselves from us!" He looked at Walker with rage and . . . fear in his face. Then he jerked his gaze away and struggled with new vigor against his bonds. "This is your new Rider! Him! You're evil! You all are going back to the dark! Putting yourselves on power and enslaving creatures unlike you! Evil! We should have known not to trust you! History will repeat itself! And you will be the cause!" When the Urgal said 'you' he looked straight at Walker. Ingothold cowered on Walker's shoulder hiding from the Urgal's livid gaze.

"What is he talking about?" asked Walker.

Vesta walked over to Walker and took his arm and started to lead him away. He resisted some what because he needed to know why the Urgal was saying such things. "Explain to me. Why is he saying that?" he asked Vesta.

"Come with me." That was all she said as she pulled Walker's arm leading him to the edge of the camp.

"No," said Walker in a low tone. He planted his feet firmly on the ground so he couldn't be dragged away.

Vesta stopped pulling him and turned around to stare intensely into his eyes. She also spoke in a low tone that was commanding and gentle in the way that a mother orders her children sternly for the sake of their safety. "Come with me," she repeated and she gently started to tug his arm again.

Walker glanced back at the Urgal. They had placed a gag over the Urgal's mouth so his enraged words only came out in little muffled sounds. He still struggled against the rope tied around him and he stared at the ground around his feet so he did not meet Walker's gaze. Why is he acting this way?

"All right," Walker said. He let Vesta lead him away to the edges of the camp where the golden dragon Eridor lay. When they stopped in front of the dragon Walker turned to her and asked, "What happened?"

"The Urgal is Skillet. In the middle of the night he was in a wild blind rage and ran into our camp. He injured two of our men quite badly before we were able to subdue him and tether him to that pole. We've been trying to get him to talk intelligible sentences ever since but he just keeps on rambling about Kingkiller." She shook her head and mumbled, "This doesn't make sense." She looked at a spot right beside Walker as her mind tried to make sense of the Urgal's words.

"Isn't Kingkiller one of Eragon Shadeslayer's many names?" asked Walker.

"Yes, it is," she replied, "but it's not he."

"I'm sure he wouldn't do anything horrible to the Urgals, but still, how can you be sure?"

Because the great Shadeslayer would not bother coming back to Alagaësia to frighten a few Urgals. said Eridor as he touched Walker's mind. Think! You know that.

"I know," said Walker, "but there could always be another reason that he didn't tell you about."

Whether there is an alternative motive, it is still not possible.

"Why?"

Because a hundred years ago Eragon Shadeslayer got his fortune told by the magician, Angela. She used dragon knuckle bones which never lie. One of the fortunes was that he would leave Alagaësia never to return. He can't come back here so it cannot be he.

"Is there anyone else who goes by that name?" asked Walker.

"Not that either I or Eridor has heard of," said Vesta.

There could have been someone who lived in Eragon's age but there isn't anyway they could have lived this long unless they are an elf and if they were one we would have heard tell of them, said Eridor.

"But still there is someone out there whether they really are a Kingkiller or mistaken as one. He was not making that up." A sense of foreboding landed heavily in the pit of Walker's stomach as he mentioned Skillet.

Yes. I agree, said Eridor.

When Walker had mentioned Skillet, he remembered another thing that he had seen that confused him.

"Why did Skillet react that way when he saw me?" he asked.

"Walker, I really don't know." said Vesta.

"I have no idea why he reacted that way to me. I haven't done anything to cause that."

"It's very unsettling having so many things in the unknown, but they are unknown." said Vesta. "I'm sorry, but neither of us knows anything about why Skillet reacted like that to you. I'm sure you haven't done anything to deserve that. It may be just because that Skillet was very uneasy and your sudden appearance pushed him over the deep end. That's the only logical explanation right now. But I do doubt that it's anything to be worried about."

"All right." said Walker. He didn't tell her that what she had said hadn't helped him one bit.

There was a moment of silence before Vesta glanced at Walker inquiringly. "What were you doing before you began eavesdropping on us anyway?" She kept her voice light and almost playful so Walker found himself answering before thinking about the painful topic the answer would bring up.

"I was looking for you because I wanted to tell you about these nightmares I've . . . been–." He stopped when he became aware of what he had been saying.

Ingothold reminded him that he had been going to tell her about his dreams anyway.

I know. But whenever I think of her now all of the air whooshes out of me. Walker did feel his heart falter within his chest.

"Abigail?" Vesta asked politely out of one of the many habits of conversation. She didn't need an answer.

"I won't ever be able to forget about her. It's impossible," said Walker.

Vesta raised an eyebrow at him. "A bit dramatic? Nothing is impossible."

This time it was Walker's turn to raise an eyebrow. "People who say that really are wrong. Is it possible to float in midair? No. And if it is not possible then it is . . . Hm. I've forgotten the word. What is it?"

Impossible, said Eridor with a chuckle.

"Yes. That was it." Walker snapped his fingers in fake excitement as he found that 'escaping' word.

Vesta rolled her eyes. "The saying wasn't meant to apply to such things as floating in midair. It was meant to contradict people who say that something is impossible when it isn't; it's just difficult."

"I still think it's impossible," said Walker stubbornly as he mentioned Abigail again.

He could tell that Vesta was aggravated; he could hear her as she blew all of the air out of her lungs forcefully. Walker didn't want to say that she was puffing because the word seemed too childish to use concerning a grown woman well over a hundred years old. He also didn't want to anger her but no words presented themselves to him in his mind to say so he stayed quiet.

"I know what it's like," said Vesta. Walker looked at her but her eyes were gazing into nothingness just like before. "I know what it is like to have a person, or many people, whom you can't forget. I've been there. To forget does seem impossible but it really isn't. And the hardest part about forgetting is finally believing that you can. You can, Walker. Please, just believe it."

"How did you forget?" he asked her.

"Whenever they would come to mind I would sing a certain song in my head. I would repeat the lyrics over and over until my mind found something else to think about, and it always did eventually. And as time went on their visits to my mind became less frequent until they hardly come at all anymore."

"You sang a song?"

"Yes."

"And it worked?"

"Yes. There are sometimes when I think about them but that is merely for a few seconds between entire months of being forgotten."

"If you can do it, I can do it, right?" Walker asked apprehensively.

She nodded.

I wonder if the people she has to forget are the people she's killed? But he didn't dare ask her that.

"You're going to try?" Vesta asked him.

Walker hesitated. But then he gave a small nod.

A little sympathetic smile came to Vesta's lips. She placed her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "It'll be hard, but you can do it. Don't forget that. And don't doubt that you can't do anything ever again."

"What about floating in midair?"

"Except for that." she said jokingly. She gave his shoulder one more squeeze before letting go. "I've got to go see Rhylite and tell him about Skillet, but I'll be back when we set off again."

"All right," said Walker.

She left.

Walker looked toward Eridor who was looking at him in turn with his large battle-shield sized eyes. You should pick a song to sing now, said the dragon before closing his eyes to return to rest.

A song.

Walker sat down on the grass as he went through all of the songs he could remember. Ingothold jumped from his shoulder down onto the ground and raced around in the tall plain grass. At some points the grass was so tall it hid Ingothold completely from view.

Which song? thought Walker. It should be a song I know really well. And that's very catchy too.

After sitting there for several minutes he finally came upon the right song. It was an old nursery rhyme that Walker had learned when he was little.

Where the waterfall goes, where up the plants grow

lies the cave of the mad fairy Rose. All who go near froze

for they feared him getting their nose.

Everyone in Carvahall taught the song to their children. The mad fairy Rose was supposed to scare them from going to Igualda Falls and slipping and hurting themselves. Losing your nose was a big deal to most children, but not to Abigail. She had never fallen for the tale but Walker had managed to keep her from going there and getting hurt.

Abigail. Time started to slow down around him and he began to sink back into his guilt. No! I have to forget her. I will forget her. He sang the song over and over again in his mind and tried to block her completely from his thoughts. I will not keep dwelling on my guilt. I won't.

Walker kept singing until the song became stuck in his head and he couldn't stop repeating the lines. It was annoying not being able to stop singing the song. But at least Abigail's presence was gone.

Did you like it? If you did (or if you have any suggestions about the story) please, Please, PLEASE review. I would absolutely love it if you did.