Chapter VIII 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!
In case you wanted to know, Gïrnięn is pronounced gir-NI-en, Cïtirinus is pronounced phonetically, Jinaë is pronounced GEE-nay-ee, Ÿreven is pronounced ee-REV-en, and Orœthmis is pronounced oh-ROW-zee-miss.
Also, in real life, a giant sequoia is approximately forty-seven times the height of a grown man, which is what I used here, for dragons.
A cold wind whipped at Gïrnięn's face. Looking up, he saw the first leaves of autumn falling. Everyone on the island had waited almost four months by now for Eragon's return. Several other teams had been sent out, but either they didn't return, or didn't find him. Gïrnięn sighed. There had been two more undead attacks, but no one knew where they were coming from. No one had yet figured out how necromancy was possible, much less at this scale. Magic was merely the manipulation of energy, and trying to move an animal's limbs at great distances and large numbers seemed impossible.
Staring at Solus-harmr, Gïrnięn thought about the dark reptilian voice, what he now called Shadow. It seemed to like that name, sending waves of mental euphoria through his mind whenever it was thought of. Shadow had intruded into his consciousness now, rising from the subconscious to whisper dark thoughts in his ear. In other words, Shadow was the polar opposite of Cïtirinus. Gïrnięn had drawn closer to the dwarf Orœthmis over the last few months, and had discovered—Shadow lurked in Orœthmis' thoughts too, though Orœthmis termed Hreth. The Urgal Ÿreven had also spoken to Orœthmis, reporting a certain Ithrö that lurked in his subconscious, though no other residents of the island reporting knowing of or hearing of such a thing, with the exception of the tight-lipped elves. It irked Gïrnięn that he couldn't prove only the Riders of Cïtirinus' siblings were being affected by Shadow—Jinaë still refused to talk.
Leaning against a stout oak, Gïrnięn telekinetically started throwing pebbles with stenr trautha. Mulling over his thoughts, Gïrnięn didn't notice when the messenger pigeon landed on his shoulder. He did notice when it screeched in his ear. Annoyed, Gïrnięn peeled the note off of the bird's legs and peered at it.
Go to the island's west shore tonight, when the moon reaches its zenith. Alert no one. A boatman will be there to ferry you and the other three across to the mainland. Bring your dragon. Once you have reached the mainland, enter the island's first defense: the maze of trees. Turn left whenever you see a pine, and right when you see ash, but go straight all other times to enter the labyrinth's center. Your dragon will not be able to fly over, so have them wait at the entrance. In the center, open the chest and take the underground passage. Follow it, and when you have reached the other end, summon your dragon with your mind. There, someone will answer your questions.
-Eragon
Casting his mind out, Gïrnięn found Cïtirinus.
Cïtirinus? We have a task to perform.
Gïrnięn watched the moon carefully. Though everyone in dormitory B-49 was asleep, he didn't want to take any chances. Stripping off his nightshirt, he quickly slipped into his clothes. Donning his dragoncloak, Gïrnięn slipped on the belt that carried Solus-harmr and crept out silently with hljödhr. When he reached the door that led outside, he folded down his hood and started running. Reaching the west shore, he spotted two other cloaked figures. One seemed to be an Urgal, with horns poking out of his hood and waves of stench rolling off him, another seemed to be a dwarf, short and stout. Waiting, a fourth figure came toward them, and by its patient stride, Gïrnięn deduced that it was an elf. Without a word, the four of them waited, as one by one, their dragons came forward. By then, Gïrnięn had deduced that the others were Jinaë, Orœthmis, and Ÿreven. After what seemed like days, a small vessel started rowing towards them. When it reached the four, the ferryman beckoned towards them with a gnarled, old hand. Silently, the four boarded the craft and the ferryman started rowing them across.
When Gïrnięn reached the mainland, he looked up in awe at the maze of trees, or formally, Arborlabyrinthus. Looking at gigantic sequoias reaching their boughs up to the sky like thousands of fingers tipped with green, Gïrnięn shuddered. Though the width was the same of any giant sequoia, these trees were seven-and-two-score times the height of Cïtirinus. Shuddering, Gïrnięn entered, with Jinaë, Ÿreven, and Orœthmis trailing behind him, in that order. Cïtirinus, Chrosiuä the magenta dragon, Spinelius the cyan dragon, and Asterdiopsidus the black dragon waited at the entrance patiently. Gïrnięn muttered to himself as he tried to tell pine from ash. Somehow, after what seemed like days, Gïrnięn found himself in the center of the labyrinth, a large clearing with eight pathways radiating from it. The clearing, however, was exactly that—there was virtually nothing there.
Ÿreven shuffled around him, and in a crude imitation of the Ancient Language, asked, "Master Eragon mentioned a chest? Where is it?"
Jinaë walked over to one of the sequoias at the edge of the clearing and muttered, "It should be hidden somewhere here."
Orœthmis started digging with magic. "Perhaps underground. We were asked to find a subterranean passage."
Looking around, Gïrnięn started inspecting each tree carefully as Ÿreven joined Orœthmis in his task.
Come on, come on.
Cïtirinus noticed.
Let me try.
You? How?
Suddenly, Cïtirinus' mind intruded into Gïrnięn's. Instinctively fighting it, Gïrnięn soon relaxed as Cïtirinus ran Gïrnięn's hands across the rough bark.
There.
As Cïtirinus left his mind, Gïrnięn found an indentation. Sticking his fingers in, he slid the bark apart to reveal a hidden space. Inside sat a scroll. Opening it, he found it was written in the Ancient Language. Turning around, he saw Jinaë looking at him expectantly. Sighing, Gïrnięn handed the scroll over.
Jinaë began reading from it. (Translated from the Ancient Language) "So, you've found the chest. Now, pinpoint the exact center of the clearing, and when you're there, say 'take me to the other end' in the Urgal language. You will be transported to your desired destination."
Jinaë began speaking a spell, and thousands of lines started radiating from a single point in glowing magenta. Ÿreven strode over and started emitting guttural sounds. Slowly, the trees around them rose higher and higher—until Gïrnięn realized they were sinking. The phrase must have triggered a spell. A blinding flash of blue light suddenly sprang into existence, tormenting Gïrnięn's eyes. After five excruciating seconds, Gïrnięn found himself in a subterranean chamber. Alone. Stumbling through the tunnels, Gïrnięn suddenly found himself in a circular chamber. A withered corpse lay on the ground, while the others laid in unconscious heaps on the other side of the room. Gïrnięn started walking toward them, but tripped over the corpse. Looking back, Gïrnięn suddenly found a cold, dead hand grasping his ankle. The corpse rose its grotesque face to stare at him, miniature flames burning in its dead eyes. A disembodied voice cackled from its depths, a sound that would not have disgraced the screams of a tortured man.
In a hoarse, dry whisper that sounded like metal grinding on stone he said, "You're late! Where have you been? The fun's started without you!"