Chapter XI 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!
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Gïrnięn was flying on a giant winged sunbeam. That's what Cïtirinus appeared to be anyway, as he zipped across the heavens, meticulously scanning each peak. So far, they had found no sign of the others, and were beginning to lose hope that they were even alive. As Cïtirinus landed, Gïrnięn dismounted and began to set up camp. They wanted to stay out of sight of the dwarves. Gïrnięn didn't think dwarves would take kindly to strangers stealing their Feldûnost. Gïrnięn had objected, but they couldn't find better meat around, and the giant Nagra were too large for Cïtirinus. Wandering in the snowcapped Beor Mountains had been their routine for the last few days, but Cïtirinus could only survey the lower foothills. The tough, sturdy evergreens blocked Cïtirinus' sight, their wild green spreading away like a thick carpet, contrasting with the purple tinge of the mountains and the bright blue of the sky. White mist wreathed the land just above the forest, making the difficult task near impossible. This was the fifth day now they had been searching, and they still couldn't find the threesome. By now, Gïrnięn couldn't tell what had been real and what had been illusion. He wasn't sure if he trusted Eragon anymore, either.
Muttering curses under his breath, Gïrnięn unsheathed Solus-harmr and started gathering firewood. Looking up into the boughs of the trees, he sighed. Then he blinked. Wiping his eyes, he stared up again. A shadowy shape lurked on one of the branches, its glowing eyes fixated on him. With a harsh cry that imitated the sound of stone grinding against bone, it flapped away into the sky. Shivering, Gïrnięn moved the firewood with a quick spell, and headed back to camp.
A dark shape writhed in front of Gïrnięn. Reminded of the terrible challenge he'd been issued, Gïrnięn stared at the scene unfolding in front of him. Everything was wreathed in darkness, and a large, writhing mass shifted its weight to sit more comfortably on what seemed to be decaying corpses. As a large earthworm slithered out of an eyehole, it was suddenly snatched up. Looking up, Gïrnięn saw that the bird he had seen earlier was pecking at the still writhing worm. The dark mass hissed at it, and the bird landed. The bird's gleaming eyes peered closely at the dark mass and seemed to whisper something to it. A horrible hissing noise crept out of the thing's throat.
"He is… still there?"
The bird screeched once.
"Ah… I shall send the men to test him. The others have all escaped from them, but I am… interested to see what will happen to the poor, foolish boy." Once again the horrible hissing noise slid out of its mouth. "You will… ensure that my brother will be… occupied?"
The bird screeched again.
"Hmm…" The dark thing seemed to twist around, but its bulk was so large it was hard to tell. Gïrnięn squinted his eyes. It almost seemed like parts of its body were moving in different directions. The thing made a triumphant sound—Gïrnięn guessed he was grinning horribly.
"It's very rude to eavesdrop, you know. Do we need to… punish you?"
Scrambling backwards, Gïrnięn suddenly found himself freefalling. Screaming, he watched as the dark thing's eye glitter at him. Once.
"I'll be… coming for you… soon."
Waking from his fitful dream, Gïrnięn looked around. It was still dark, and the owls were still hunting. After a few moments, he got up and scrambled into the miniature taiga in the foothills. Running far into the woods, he relieved himself. Then, breathing in the cool, fresh, night air, he started hiking. It felt strange to be hiking in nothing but his underclothes and his leather cloak, but he couldn't sleep and needed the exercise. Spinning around, he bumped straight into an arrow—almost. The projectile whizzed by just a centimeter above his head.
Suddenly on alert, Gïrnięn tried made mental contact with Cïtirinus as arrows whizzed out of the trees like swarms of mosquitoes, ready to slurp his blood. Strangely, Cïtirinus' mind was blank. Cursing, Gïrnięn clambered up a tree into its highest boughs, muttering a spell at the five men gathered around the roots. Four of the men had their necks broken instantly, the fifth was bound by the air pressure around him.
Sliding down the trunk, Gïrnięn started intruding into the man's mind. The first thing he felt was a wall. The man was reciting a piece of poetry to himself over and over. Memorizing the words, Gïrnięn started speaking random words to disturb the sequence of his thoughts. Finally, Gïrnięn broke through, only to hit something with a decayed feel. He almost sunk into the mind, but quickly pulled himself out. The man seemed to be casting a spell. Peering in, Gïrnięn's heart suddenly leapt up into his mouth as he realized what spell the man was trying to cast. Quickly extricating himself, Gïrnięn tried to think of a spell as white bones peeked out of the earth, rotting scraps of flesh still clinging to them. Dozens of dead birds, Feldûnost, and Nagra appeared, emerald fires burning in dark sockets.
Screaming jierda, Gïrnięn started shattering the undead, however, he was tiring quickly. Cïtirinus' mind was still incapacitated. Looking up at the stars, Gïrnięn muttered a final, desperate prayer to Aiedail, and started drawing energy from the citrine in Solus-harmr's pommel.
Just when Gïrnięn was about to collapse from fatigue, suddenly, a magenta blade flashed down and smashed through the creatures. Gïrnięn looked up in wonder to see Jinaë, dismounted from Chrosiuä, slashing through the things and muttering spells to keep them down. After about nine seconds, the bones stopped twitching and the threat was over. Gïrnięn looked up at a grimly smiling Jinaë.
"Now that I saved your sorry behind, why don't we go find Orœthmis and Ÿreven?"
That night, Gïrnięn shaped a flat stone with magic in the shape of a frying pan and, after jointing the deer carcass, cut the carcass into bite sized pieces. Jinaë used seasoned flour stored in her pack and water from a nearby stream for a thin batter, then dipped the meat in and put it in the frying pan, greased with Jinaë's small supply of margarine. Tossing in some herbs he scavenged nearby, Gïrnięn watched as the batter slowly transition from cream to golden brown. The herbs were arranged randomly, and the ones in the center slowly browned. Scooping up a piece of breaded meat, Gïrnięn quickly inserted it into his mouth, feeling the warm, buttery taste roll over his taste buds, in sharp contrast with the bitter herbs. The meat was chewy, and slid down his throat easily. Finishing the meal, he glanced questioningly at Jinaë.
Jinaë spread her hands helplessly. "Ÿreven should be easy to find enough, with the stench of carrion probably still clinging to him," she said, "And Orœthmis has probably found shelter with the dwarves, but you, were almost assassinated." Her stare become fixated on him. "What makes you so important?"