Arya didn't think about that had happened. She didn't think about how she'd shouted and walked out like a teenager, didn't think about what would happen, didn't think about the consequences.
Because there weren't any. Nothing would happen. Her outburst would stay up in that little room, the safe room, the sanctuary.
Except…what was Morzansson going think of her? Really. She'd almost had respect. Which was something she realized she'd been battling for, gaining ground in their battles, and she'd thought she had it. Her recent act had torn all that work down. Beautiful.
Arya did what she always did with things that bothered her: she ignored them. She shoved them to the back of her mind and locked them in her trunk marked "Dangerous Thoughts," to keep her love for Faolin, her contempt for Eragon, her numerous insecurities, her resentment of her mother and all the rest company.
Then she went to "sleep."
Arya wished she could sleep, really sleep, but the lack of that ability was part of the curse of being an elf.
The next day involved going to Dras'leona and doing a formal investigation of Helgrind. Eragon and Roran hadn't thoroughly explored, and it turned out that the mountain was a vast labyrinth. Arya joined Eragon on Saphira, and Murtagh and Thorn flew beside them, winging their way through the crisp, autumn air to the mountains called "The Gates of Hell."
The mountains were ominous as they drew closer and closer. They seemed so dead, so alien and abnormal. Saphira led the way to the illusion in the wall. Arya felt herself brace for impact as the wall came closer and closer…
They were inside a cave, sunlit and large.
"This isn't so bad," thought Arya, trying to calm her claustrophobia. She could not keep it at bay for long though and she shuddered as they walked further and further into the cave, the light ominously receding. Arya, an elf born and raised in the woods, found it oppressive. She calmed herself with mental images of Tialdari Hall, as usual. Still, she found herself feeling short of breath often enough, the walls appearing to grow closer together.
The three split up, agreeing to meet back in an hour. Thorn and Saphira occupied the front cavern, before the optical illusion that hid the Ra'zacs' former den. They were too immense to travel the tunnels, and everyone felt better with a guard, for reasons they could not explain.
Arya wandered, checking each and every door, leaving open those she'd searched. She found many empty rooms, but many held scrolls and books. Those she marked on the map she was scratching out on a piece of parchment. Mapping the labyrinth was part of their goal, and Arya hoped to the stars that it was small.
She walked through room after room. Prison cells, some empty, some with skeletons in them. Arya shuddered in revulsion. The corridor became narrow, and her sense of claustrophobia increased. She sensed she was getting hear the end of the maze.
Then, suddenly, she reached a fork. She chose the right tunnel, and was greeted with one hundred empty yards. It must be a trick to throw people off, she though, turning back and reaching the fork again. She made her way down the left tunnel.
About ten feet down it, her light went out.
Arya tried to cast it again, but she could not even feel the draw of energy.
"I can't use magic here," she thought in consternation.
Arya drew her sword, and almost dropped it when she heard Eragon scream from down the corridor.
Arya screamed. Then she recovered herself.
"Eragon?"
No answer.
"Eragon, are you there?"
Silence.
"How could he have passed me? How could he have gotten down here without me seeing?"
She strode toward the sound. Her ball of light no longer illuminated the corridor, so she could see nothing. The air was damp and cold. Then, she saw a shape on the ground.
"Eragon!"
Arya dashed to it, but it was wooden sand small, curved on the top—a trunk. She pawed at it, and found the lock. She jumped as she heard the scream again, only it seemed to emanate from the box.
"Eragon!" she cried, wildly.
"Calm yourself, Arya. It is an enchantment. The trunk, there is a spell on it, that is all, there must be something valuable in it and it's a defense mechanism, just the thing the Ra'zac would think up…"
"Eragon?" Murtagh's voice came from around the corner.
"No, Arya. There's a—" But Arya did not know precisely what there was, so she let the sentence drop.
She heard Murtagh approaching. "I heard a scream."
"So did I, I thought it was Eragon. And…my light went out."
"As did mine," replied Murtagh.
There was another scream, only this time it was not a voice Arya recognized.
"Go on! GO! Before they hit you as well!"
"Tornac!" cried Murtagh.
"No..." said Arya.
And again, this time it was Arya's mother.
"You ungrateful girl! You left me—you left your home and your family! I was right to banish you and wrong to forgive you! You companions died for you, and all wish they had not sacrificed their lives for one so unworthy."
Arya took deep shuddering breaths. "Not real. It's not real…"
"What are we—" began Murtagh, but another voice emanated from the box.
"You have done well, my son," it said, and Arya knew who it was with asking. Murtagh stiffened.
"You have truly taken my place. It is a shame you could not save the king…but you could follow in his footsteps, oh yes—"
"SHUT UP!" shouted Murtagh. "Brisingr!"
The chest did not burn. Arya leapt to her feet. She could not listen to these voices in the darkness any longer.
Murtagh stood beside her and seemed to deliberate a moment before snatching the trunk up. It began in Oromis's voice.
"I am dead because of you! You killed an innocent, wise rider. YOU! And you! You disappointment to our race, Arya, you who let your guards die for you, you who let me die, who broke an innocent boy's heart…you who are not so lily-white as you pretend! Tell me, Arya, how is it that you were able to protect yourself from the Shade Durza? How is it? Could it be, Arya that you lied? That you are befouled, contaminated, not the pure innocent virgin you pretend? Is it possible?"
"Stop it!" screamed Arya. "Stop it!" She shouted all of the seven words of death, but the voice in the trunk laughed. She could not move, she was frozen to the floor—memories—memories—
Murtagh grabbed her arm and yanked her, pulling her back into reality. He pulled her along, and soon she was running to catch up with him.
They saw light, and raced toward it. Eragon stood with a torch and the fork in the tunnels.
"What the hell? I heard shouting! Are you—"
Brom's voice spoke then. "Disappointed, I am, my son. Very disappointed. How is it that you let so many die for you? Kvistor, the Dwarf, to name one? Countless soldiers of the Empire who were enslaved?"
"It—don't listen to it!" panted Arya. "It…it's a spell…it must be!"
Murtagh fumbled with the trunk and found the clasp to it. It was not locked, but it took him several seconds to slip the clasp off, and he glanced at Eragon and Arya before opening it. They nodded, and Murtagh flung the lid off.
Inside was an orb of black crystal. Smoke seemed to swim below its surface and just as a new voice was beginning to speak form it, Eragon snatched it and flung it to the floor. It shattered on the stone, into oily black liquid which smelled foul. In the center of it, small and white, lay an Eldunari.
"Jarnunvosk…" murmured Arya.
"I think it's time to leave," said Eragon shakily. "This was the last tunnel, right? Was there anything at the end?"
"I don't know," said Arya. She wanted nothing more than to run out of the dark, dank, cold tunnels into sunlight, but she had to tell the truth.
"Let's finish it," said Eragon, bending down and picking up the Eldunari. He grimaced in revulsion as some of the black liquid got on his hand, and he scrubbed it on his tunic.
They walked through the dark, until they reached a turn. Arya drew in a deep breath as the rounded it…into a wall. Eragon tried several enchantments, but it seemed that this, the corridor which housed the eldunari of Galbatorix's dragon, was the end. The blessed end.
They carried the books out to the windy cliff edge, and Arya savored the fresh air and they sorted. Most of the books were on black magic, and they were burned, but some of the histories they kept. By the time they were done, the sun had set, and Arya was more than ready to leave the accursed mountains, worshipped by the madmen and women of Dras'leona.
So. Sorta reminiscent of the jabberjays in Catching Fire, am I right? But decent anyway? Drop a review, and let me know. Oh, and Jarnunvosk's eldunari will be explained next chapter. I know it seems improbable, but all will be explain in time.
Sorry for the wait. I was homeschooled for nine years and am taking my Sophmore year at a public school, so there's been some adjustment going on. I'm enjoying it quite a bit!
