Hello Anonymous chick who loves angst. I understand that every reader has certain preferences when it comes to books, but threatening the author in order to insert your beloved thoughts among my paragraphs is not going to help. It's rude and unnecessary. If you like my book, that's great. If you do not fancy my plot, then I'm sure there are better books that deserve your time.
IronMikeTyson, thanks for your continuous support. I'll try to match your expectations :)
Eragon had an increasingly hard time tolerating his entourage. Coping with Arya was more difficult than conquering the steep hill they had been climbing for a while already. Her false promises were rugged with unrequited sadness, just like the jagged stones and boulders sprinkled randomly across the crumpled soil.
The more she insisted to help, the harder she climbed to his heart. More irritating than her senseless ramblings was the harsh midday sun. The trees offered some relief against the heat, but the accursed wind refused to blow. The elements themselves cursed Eragon.
"His four legs are way faster than yours."
Eragon looked up, frowning. Walking came natural to one such as Angela, proven by her significant lead. Sitting on a boulder, she laughed riotously at them, her squeals muffled by the upper air currents.
Eragon bit his bottom lip, drawing blood. He should not have climbed this mountain. The slave Angela and her cat might, but that was not how he used to travel. A Rider crossed the mountains on dragon back; A Rider spent nights huddled against his dragon's side. Riders did not walk, or build campfires to withstand the biting cold. That is what happened to him. Because of a stubborn dragon. Because of dead enemies.
The craving he felt when he and Saphira parted ways faded the day after his wounds had been healed. Regret, shame and sympathy smoldered until they consumed themselves. Now, all that remained was the void inside his heart and mind. The nothingness.
Over the last five days, it self sustained. Each climbed hill, crossed ridge or walk provided it with sustenance once certain memories failed to stop his expansion. Arya was no longer his ally. Every word uttered by her held a meager tribute, a gift to the void dwelling inside him. She never understood him.
It was such a relief that she stopped talking. What Eragon needed was not her foolish hope about Saphira's return, but pragmatism. Without Saphira, his task to defeat Galbatorix became harder.
Obstacles always blocked Eragon's path, be it lack of food under Garrow's care or the sudden departure of a dragon. As a man accustomed to the hardships of survival, Eragon learned that the best way to face an obstacle was to simply make it vanish.
Shatter.
Weakness barely tugged at his limbs as the boulder in front of him cracked into a swarm of shards, each tumbling down faster than the other.
"Conserve your energy," Arya said from behind condescendingly.
Paying no heed to her words, Eragon walked over the stone chips, striding to reach the top. Angela was already waiting for him, bladeless huthvir held firmly. A weird weapon, but an efficient walking stick.
"The drunk who scribbled the tome blessed it with ale from his guts," Angela said, smiling wryly. "It's no wonder I don't know how the Rock of Kuthian looks, but half a day's travel should get us there. Keep looking for a conspicuously large rock!"
She dashed forward, but then she stopped.
"Or a boulder," she noted.
Eragon ceased his struggles to decipher her. She was annoying, had many secrets and spoke in riddles. Even so, Eragon involuntarily observed the diminishing mirth that she tried to hide. Angela was not spared of change either.
"Eragon."
The clutch on his shoulder was unrelenting.
"Avoid the emptiness," she said solemnly. "It's tantalizing, blissful, agonizing. Letting it go means relinquishing life."
Eragon squirmed slightly. Arya tightened her grip, digging her nails into the tanned leather of his tunic. He eyed her curtly.
"You had no dragon."
Arya looked down. "Not all bonds are the same. Some last forever. Others—" she trailed off, glancing at him. "They simply vanish."
Eragon barely recognized the sadness in her voice, the stark look in her eyes. They seemed distant, trapped in a permeating haze. He did not always rely on Saphira. A good part of his life had not included her. Going back, however, was daunting. Too much had been lost already. He was not prepared.
"You have other bonds," Arya added. "Lasting ones." She lowered her voice to a soft whisper. "Recent ones."
"Another false promise?" Eragon inquired, frowning. "Another ephemeral conjuration of hope and joy?"
Arya was taken aback. Her unyielding poise crumbled before Eragon's eyes.
"You speak of Saphira, when you already know of her betrayal," Eragon said nonchalantly. Arya quivered slightly, but faced the gravity of his thundering words. This elf was determined. Stubborn.
"You suffered, Arya," Eragon reproached. "What broken vines lie within you coil around lies, trying to hoist themselves upwards to escape the clouds below." He said nothing. Arya's grip lessened on his shoulder.
"There is nothing up there," he harshly concluded.
Arya wasn't shocked. At least, none of her features indicated so. Eragon thought it was over, that he finally demolished her irrational stubbornness. When he wanted to go, the hand on his shoulder reminded him that Arya was not yet done. He turned around.
"What about me?" She pleaded, looking at him with hopeful emerald eyes.
Eragon regarded her for a moment. That lithe form that enthralled his senses and captivated his mind. The lush raven hair that rippled across her beautiful shoulders, caressing her breasts. She was a majestic tree amidst grime coated plains. The tainted splendor. For him, she was a faded memory of a life once vibrant with sound and color.
"Unimportant," Eragon concluded, shrugging off her frail hand.
The brutal answer she received from Eragon before the sun bled in the sky still lingered in Arya's mind. She thought she still possessed that commanding power, the soothing touch which Eragon relished. She hoped to change him, to deter him from going to the same abyss Eragon saved her from.
Some things, like the rocks, cannot be ravaged, Arya mused, kicking a pebble. She expected to lose. The way towards the Rock of Kuthian was rough and tedious, giving her enough time to ponder on the defeat she faced.
It wasn't her way to feel bitter after a confrontation, yet this one was different. She was not only overpowered, but failed a friend. A loved one. A potential mate.
"Hush!"
Angela's strident shout sent shivers across Arya's unsuspecting form, rousing her awareness.
"You looked at the trees, not at the rock itself."
Arya watched Angela shuffle through some dense undergrowth, wading through the foliage with the aid of her hands. Glancing at Eragon—who trailed behind her—Arya followed Angela.
The narrow slope was the habitat of numerous critters. Brambles tugged at her clothes, the branches intertwined in her hair, insects crawled across her arms. An unusually small tree that grew in the middle of the tiny corridor surrounded by spiky bushes made it even worse.
"This is the Rock of Kuthian," Arya heard Angela's voice. Slightly curious, she scuttled forward, swaying slightly to evade the tree and its gnarled boughs that prodded at her hair.
The end of their search was not a rock, but a rocky burrow guarded by a huge triangular stone that leaned forward, providing a natural ledge for its inhabitants. Shuffling forward for a better look, Arya observed that the small, uneven corridor that led underground had been dug by a medium sized animal.
"Go no forward," Angela threatened, almost harshly. "Back, back to the tree with you," she waved persistently, crouching next to Solembum once Arya obeyed.
Arya quickly realized just how unusual it was to see Angela uptight. The herbalist always seemed in control, restraining her emotions more efficiently than Arya. Watching Angela grumble intelligible words to her werecat puzzled and intrigued Arya at the same time. What if Kuthian was dangerous? What was he?
Solembum meowed softly and licked Angela's face a few times before strolling into the burrow. Tilting his body gracefully, Solembum entered the burrow without much trouble. Somehow, the entrance fit him. Arya's eyes widened.
The Rock of Kuthian was not a burrow, but a den.
Favoring Eragon—who sat to her left, on the other part of the tree—an uncertain glance, Arya tried to tell him that she was with him. That in this quest, he was not alone, no matter how ridiculous it sounded.
Strange meows snapped Arya to her senses. One belonged to Solembum, but the other was softer, more melodic.
Kuthian is a female werecat? Arya thought.
Her musings dwelled shortly. Two werecats emerged from the den. Solembum and a smaller, enthusiastic werecat that circled him impatiently, brushing sleek, rich grey fur streaked with silvery stripes against his form.
Her displays were erratic to Arya's eyes, but vaguely familiar. After licking Solembum's face, the other werecat dropped on her belly, swishing her tail. When Solembum did nothing, she repeatedly rubbed her body against it, almost enticingly. As the gray werecat placed herself in front of Solembum, Arya realized why her behavior was not foreign to her. It was a mating plea.
Much to her disappointment, Solembum did nothing. The werecat accepted her failure, for she stopped shortly after.
Angela sighed, walking towards the werecat. She almost seemed relieved and proud of Solembum's decision. Her posture was no longer stiff and tense, but fully relaxed.
Both Solembum and the other werecat stared at her intently. Arya suspected they talked among themselves. It wasn't just concentration that captivated the werecats. Both of them ignored Angela, and now they seemed oddly interested in her.
Arya shifted uncomfortably, tapping her right foot impatiently. Being excluded from everything that regarded their quest unnerved her. Until now, Angela guided them with uncanny precision along the way. Arya had not seen the tome or what it contained, but books held no references about vegetation or hidden locations such as the Rock of Kuthian. Angela knew exactly where to look for.
The gray werecat licked her face several times, then entered the den.
"Well?" Eragon asked impetuously. "Can that cat defeat Galbatorix?"
"Oh no, dear!" Angela chuckled. "You will. After we go somewhere else."