Chapter IV of Shadow, a work of fan fiction based on Christopher Paolini's InheritanceCycle.
Every week or so, a new chapter will be published, so stay on your toes for more!
Sorry for the delay, just that my life has to go on and my first draft was junk. Also, if you don't catch it, "Lednerg" is Grendel spelled backward. If you don't know about Grendel, look up Beowulf.
Gïrnięn stepped into his classroom for magic guided by an older student, an elf. The elf turned around and glanced at Gïrnięn.
"Master Lednerg is ready to see you." The elf almost spat it out.
As he entered the room, Gïrnięn thought back to Eragon's reaction at Roran's senility. The old tales all told of Eragon being incredibly sentimental and moral. Eragon's response didn't exactly put much proof behind that. Cïtirinus noticed this stray thought and asked:
You are surprised at Eragon's reaction?
You would be too, if you've heard tales of his emotion and morality all your life.
I have been listening to them all my life, remember?
Speaking of your life, do you know your parents?
I have none.
That cannot be.
And yet, it has happened.
How?
Last the Rider Trinity gathered, an "accident", or so everyone's told me, happened and I and the other three were created. I have suspicions of a fifth sibling, however, for one of the seniors accidentally let it slip from their thoughts.
A fifth? But why would they keep that from you?
Perhaps something horrible and traumatic happened. I have no idea, but what other reason would they have?
"Gïrnięn!"
Gïrnięn looked up at a tall, thin elf. His features were fair, like all other elves, but something in his gaze was malevolent and disturbing.
Be cautious, Gïrnięn.
I will.
"You cannot even pay attention for a second without your mind straying." The elf scoffed. "Well, then. You may call me Lednerg-ebrithil."
"I understand you are here to venture into the study of magic?"
"Yes, sir."
"Not sir. Master. Now then, hmm..." The elf scrutinized Gïrnięn carefully and suddenly a probing hand stretched out from a foreign mind. Gïrnięn panicked, and in his haste, he put up rudimentary barriers. However, the hand quickly penetrated his mind and searched all his memories. Finally, after a painful five minutes, the elf looked up. "No, you have no magic in you."
"However, you may be of some trivial use." Lednerg motioned to a bucket. "Fetch some water from the well with this container."
Gïrnięn picked up the metal bucket. It was cold as ice, and hard as flint.
"Well, what are you waiting for? Are humans truly that useless?"
Gïrnięn's face burned with both anger and embarrassment. He wasn't sure which feeling he should trust.
Gïrnięn rushed out of the room and the tree, running to the well on the west side of the island. Panting, Gïrnięn threw himself on the cold rhyolite.
I knew it. I'm not good enough. I never was, just under an illusion my mind placed on me. My mind! My final sanctuary, my last place of privacy I could always sink into! And yet so easily combed by an inhuman being!
After that everything was a blur. All Gïrnięn could later recall was the intense discomfort of his burning muscles and the hurry back to Lednerg. He could vaguely recall Lednerg's disappointment… at the bucket being empty? Gïrnięn's mind tried to right itself but failed. Now why would the bucket be empty? Sick and tired, Gïrnięn lay down on his cot and drifted off to a fretful and tormented slumber. The last thought that frantically flashed across his mind again and again was that of failure, atychiphobia, and kakorrhaphiophobia.