The force of the mental attack that descended upon him was stronger than any he had ever experienced. Not even Oromis's vast presence could rival this force. It was like the whole of the Beors came crashing on his head. Fear started gnawing at his mind; fear that Galbatorix may find a opening in his mental barriers. He desperately tried to push away the fear and concentrate on the elven poem that he was reciting. But when the whip that the captain wielded slashed at his back, the combined pain was too much that his concentration faltered a slight bit. Galbatorix's presence started flooding into his mind. 'Oh, what repulsive presence it was'. There was only one way now to push the evil presence of the king out of his mind before he could incapacitate Eragon's mind and then rummage through his memories and that had to be done faster than the King's mind-speed: Form another layer of barrier using something that was stronger than Galbatorix's will to control Eragon. Eragon's mind raced desperately in search of something on which he could concentrate on without faltering even when the King's foul presence was filling his mind.
In the precious few fractions of a second he had when he would be in his own control, Eragon turned his head towards the lone lamp that provided light to the 'chamber'. It was like a flower in the midst of thorns. Like a spring morning in the midst of winter nights. Like Arya. Yes, Arya.
The elven princess's image filled his mind draining everything out of it; including the King's foul presence. Galbatorix cursed sharply and brought his boots up to kick Eragon's ribs. But all Eragon knew was Arya and the sweet nonsense he was speaking to her sitting under the Menoa. They were speaking nothing but were speaking everything. Nothing mattered to Eragon then. Only Arya and her sweet words in his ears. Her musical voice was the only thing he heard. Not even the sounds of the birds chirping from the branches of the Menoa reached his ears. 'How can Galbatorix think that his shouting and beating will reach me at this time? That fool. What does he know about love? All he knows is power.', a tiny part of Eragon's mind that was aware of the real surroundings said to the other parts.
He was still reveling in Arya's presence when they pulled him through the hard stone floor. His body rubbed against the stone opening up the half-healed wounds on his torso and legs. His broken hand was being pulled harshly and the pain that coursed through his body due to that would have made any lesser person to shout out every secret he knew for the whole world to hear if only it meant relief from that agony 'And they wouldn't be wrong to do so.', a small voice in Eragon's mind spoke. It was the part of his mind that feared the various abuses Galbatorix was putting him into: the basic, instinctive and animalistic part of the mind that every living creature shared. 'If you boast to love Arya, you should have as much stamina as her. And that means endurance of torture of the worst kind without breaking', said the more dominant part of his mind that wanted to fight Galbatorix, love Arya, be with Saphira and even bring back Garrow, Brom and Oromis from death if possible: the individualistic part of his mind that defined who he was.
Arya's beautiful laughter filled his mind when he was thrown into his cell unceremoniously. He laughed with her although blood poured from his mouth when he laughed. Even as they were smiling at each other, Arya's face started to fade out of existence. He didn't want her to go. He wanted her to stay with him. He wanted her to let him lie on her laps and sleep peacefully. "Arya, please don't leave me"
The soldier who had pushed him into the cell came towards him and leaning in near his ears whispered mockingly, "So you don't want Arya to go, eh, Rider? Guess what? I am the one who took Arya from you. Remember that elf's stay at Gil'ead? I whipped her just as I did to you today. Amusing, eh?" Something broke inside Eragon. Something that had kept him in control till then. Something that had let him display not a bit of emotion till now. It broke. And anger coursed through him. The only thing that his tired mind registered was the way the soldier pronounced Arya's name. Arya was a word that had taught Eragon of how nectar would sound. But the tone with which the soldier uttered it brought back the same anger he felt when he looked into the mind of Durza's minion in Gil'ead. Only this time it was magnified hugely by everything that he had been put through these past weeks.
The anger gave him a sort of strength that he hadn't felt since his capture. With a raw-throated yell, he lifted both his hands and struck the soldier squarely on his chest venting all his anger in that one strike. His hands broke through the thin iron armour that the soldier wore and smashed the ribs around the soldier's heart. His already broken hand was damaged further and his other hand too was broken in the effort. The pain was too much to ignore now and he cried out in agony. His brain registered the death of the soldier just before darkness overtook him bringing with it the much needed rest.
He let out an exulted cry. Finally, he had felled the deer. It had deceived him the last time and had dragged him far this time. Now that the deer was dead, he sacked and slung it across his shoulders. Then he looked at his surroundings. He had not realised he had run this deep into the spine chasing the deer. He had traversed into the unknown parts of the spine. It was said that people had always died going into these parts. Rumours about how half of the King's army had vanished without explanation in these woods were still gossiped when the Spine became the subject of talk of the townspeople. And here he was, lost in the depths of the forests of the spine. Finding no way to return to Carvahall, he reminisced on how he came to be in this situation.
This was only his second hunting trip. He had gone with his uncle the last time around. His uncle, Garrow had shown him how to release an arrow with enough speed so that it may travel as far as he needed. It amazed him how much more distance an arrow could fly with just a little more force exerted on the bow's string. His first aim was a wolf and he felled it as cleanly as a veteran would. His uncle was impressed by his show and asked him to try his hand at a deer that was a little farther away. He took his time to prepare, fixing the nock on the bowstring and feeling the touch of the feather vane for surety. Then he took aim and when he was sure that he would hit his mark perfectly, he released the arrow. It flew true to its aim for an amateur like Eragon just about missing the mark: the deer's neck. It scratched the bottom of the deer's neck and flew harmlessly. His uncle congratulated him but he wasn't ready to accept the compliments. Afterall he hadn't even succeeded in killing the deer. He decided that he would hunt that deer soon and make himself worthy of the praise his uncle bestowed upon him. So when he noticed the deer with wounded neck in the next morning when he had gone to the Anora river to bathe, he chased it.
The deer had pulled him after it to these untamed parts of the mountains. He looked up at the sky to see the position of the sun. It was nearing the horizon on the western sky. Fear started gathering in him. Soon it would be night and he wasn't sure if he could survive where even an army couldn't. So he searched for the trail, his legs had created when he came into the forest. It was a new job for him: tracking a trail. So he had lots of difficulties in finding his route. Darkness started gathering and it brought tears of fear along with it.
He heard a thump behind him and terrified he turned towards it. He relaxed when he saw that it was just a log that had fallen from a tree. It was becoming increasingly difficult to track his trail as the time went on because of the combination of the failing light and the fading trail. But Eragon found that with deep observation, he could still find his way. He tried to locate the beaten game trail from which he had deviated before sunset but due to the various detours he took mistaking an animal's tracks for his own, he was unable to do so. As darkness blanketed the land, the fears he had kept in check began to take over and he shivered from head to toe both in fear and the coldness that started creeping over the forest land.
He slowly started realising that he wouldn't be able to reach home by night. The thought of spending a whole night in the wilderness was chilling and he desperately tried to keep his fears away. He said to himself, "You are fine, Eragon. Remember what Brom said in one of his dragon tales: Fear should be curbed from your mind if you are to succeed in life. You should not fear these mountains. Uncle wouldn't want you to be an afraid nephew." Soon he found a large tree and after making sure that there wasn't anything out of ordinary near that place, he laid down on the roots of the tree. Soon he was asleep.
He awoke when he heard something snap sharply. The night was dark that it was too difficult to see. Even then, he focused as much as he could on the area where he heard the sound. He was mortified to see two wolves glaring directly at him. Although fear for his life tried to incapacitate him, he resolutely pushed it aside and picked up his bow and nocked an arrow to the string all in a smooth soundless motion so as not to alarm the wolves. But when he pulled the bowstring he found that his hands had started shaking. He urged the flesh to follow his mind: calm down. And slowly the shaking of his hands subsided.
One of the wolves advanced towards him and he fixed his aim on it. As the wolf walked towards him, a sort of blind confidence rose in him, and he released his arrow just as the wolf started pouncing at him. His aim was error free and the arrow pierced the wolf's heart. With a howl of pain, the wolf succumbed to the inviting hands of death. The other wolf that was watching this jumped on towards Eragon without giving him time to react. Reflexively Eragon rolled away, but the wolf was too fast for him and he felt nails digging into his thighs.
But he didn't want to give his life up to fate's hands soon. With his right hand he felt for his quiver. Once he touched it, he ran his hand along its sides. Soon his hand reached the opening of the quiver and dropped in front of it. Eragon hastily picked up an arrow from the quiver. Accompanied with the arrow a well polished stone came into his hands. The stone provided a firm grip for him on the arrow. Even as the wolf brought its face towards his own baring its teeth, Eragon with all his strength put the arrow through the wolf's stomach and this wolf just as the other uttered a pained howl and fell on the ground. But it didn't die like the other wolf. Eragon felt pity for the pained wolf despite the fact that it had tried to kill him. 'It had only been looking for some food', he thought. He couldn't stand the sight of the struggling animal. So even as pain shot through his body, he climbed the tree. He realised that he still had the stone in his hand when he tried to climb the tree. He liked the shape of the stone, polished as it was and the use it had been to him. So he pocketed it in his tunic.
He awoke the next morning feeling sore. The sun shined brightly on his eyes making him cover them with his hands. He looked down from the tree. The wolf had died. He sighed and picking up his leather sack from the branch where he had slung it, he got down from the tree. In the morning sun, the trail was not as difficult to find as it was in the dusk. He followed it, still observant for troubles, a trait that he had discovered would help him greatly to traverse the spine unharmed. In hours, he found the beaten game trail and sighed in relief. He could have reached here in half of the time he took now if only that accursed wolf hadn't tore his legs. He limped on through the game trail and soon the Anora river came into view.
He had walked just a few more minutes when a voice called out gruffly at him, "Boy?... Where have you been this past day?" Shocked he turned to find the interrogator. The story-teller Brom was there. Eragon was baffled about why an elderly person like Brom would come this far from the village. But he didn't want to ask Brom about it because he felt it may insult the old man. So he just explained the events of the day to Brom. Brom listened to him without much change of expression even when he said about the wolves nearly killing him except for his eyes which slightly widened at the revelation.
"So. What secrets do you think the Spine contains?", Brom asked once he finished his tale.
"Well. Not much, I guess. If one could be careful and lucky enough as me, they can surely come unscathed from those mountains"
"Don't underestimate them boy. But you are right. Observing what is around you is important. Not only in the spine but wherever you go" Brom looked satisfied by his answer. Eragon's legs pained him as if being stabbed by a spear repeatedly, so he quickly excused from Brom and went towards his home, that was still miles away.
Finally, he reached his home. Roran was sitting at the door with a sad and hard face. On seeing Eragon he ran towards him and embraced him in a close hug. Tears flowed from his eyes.
"Roran. What?", Eragon was completely bewildered by this show by his cousin.
"Where were you?", Roran asked.
"I...I had been to hunt."
"Hunt? Where?"
"Into the spine"
Roran looked too afraid to speak anything. "What?", he managed to say finally. "You were in the spine last night?", his uncle's voice came from behind. "Yes. Yes, uncle"
"You should have informed us.", Garrow stated.
"I didn't foresee it. I chased this deer right from the Anora river. It took me into the forests"
"Father..? Don't encourage him.", said Roran, "He is small. He cannot go by himself into the spine where not even the elders go."
"Eragon is grown up, Roran. It is only to our eyes that he seems small. In three years he will be a full man. As will you be in a year", Garrow said.
"I know that, Father. But.... to the Spine. They are dangerous. Eragon may die.", Roran said.
"Nothing like that will happen, Roran. I will be fine", Eragon assured his cousin and hugged him. "Oh, and I found this in the spine. Thought you might like it", Eragon handed Roran the polished stone that he had picked up while desperately trying to retrieve an arrow from his quiver. Roran got it from Eragon and even as Eragon got a feeling that Roran would throw it away, Roran pushed it into his tunic. He realised then, how much he loved Roran and how much Roran loved him and he caught Roran's hand in thanks for his love.
Eragon awoke to see a hand around his own. The first thought that came to his mind was Roran but soon he realised where he was. He was in prison which meant that the hand belonged to somebody of the empire. He tried to shrug the hand off when he heard the person speak, "You would have bled to death had I not healed your hands". Only then did Eragon notice that his broken hands were back in place. But the voice that spoke to him was familiar and he had learned to hate it in the past two-three months. 'Murtagh', he thought.
Eragon raised his head to look into Murtagh's face. His face had some new emotion in it. One that Eragon hadn't seen on Murtagh before. He tried to place it: Pity? This traitor was feeling pity for him. Anger swelled in him and his hands started trembling when he tried to control it. "Saphira has escaped capture again", Murtagh's words reached his ears. The troubles of the past days, although for Eragon they seemed like past years, came back to his mind: Katrina had asked for help and then he had a vision of Saphira's bruised and broken state. "You did it to her. You injured my Saphira", Eragon yelled involuntarily.
"Actually it was the other way around. She injured Thorn severely and got injured herself", Murtagh answered calmly. Eragon didn't want anymore conversation with Murtagh. The traitor needed no respect. So he resorted to what he had done with so much success against the magician and the captain: ignored Murtagh's presence. By the look of Murtagh's actions it seemed he was trying to garner Eragon's attention. 'Good. This will frustrate him.', Eragon thought. After some moments Murtagh touched Eragon's shoulder. Eragon didn't respond to that too. He just stared ahead as if Murtagh wasn't there atall.
"Why do you resist the King?", Murtagh asked. Anger fought for control over Eragon's better senses. Anger at Murtagh for even asking such a question. The King, that usurper was just filthy, foul... a monster. Who would not resist him? But he controlled himself at the last moment and continued his gazing at the walls. "He will eventually break you" Murtagh continued when he didn't get any response from Eragon. "Accept his rule, Eragon. It will save you so much pain" Eragon couldn't control himself any longer.
So he yelled as much as his parched throat allowed him to, "Did that fool send you as a messenger, Murtagh, having failed to break me down? Tell him that this trick is cheap and I won't fall for it"
Murtagh looked hurt at Eragon's words. "You underestimate the King, brother", he said sadly. Eragon glared at Murtagh. "You. Underestimate. Me", Eragon said icily to Murtagh. Murtagh looked at Eragon with a mixture of pity and frustration but Eragon cared not. Why should he care what his captors thought of him? But something in him said, 'He is no mere captor. He is your own blood'
'And Morzan's', Eragon snapped at the voice silencing it. "I am sorry, Eragon", Murtagh said and left the cell.
A thousand thoughts raced through Eragon. What was he sorry for? My condition? Oromis's death? Hrothgar's death? His loyalties? What for? 'You can't wash off your sins with a simple sorry, Murtagh'
Once the sound of Murtagh's footsteps died down, Eragon went to sit leaning against the wall. Pain coursed through his body whenever he moved but the most heavily wounded areas had become numb with pain and so he felt he could manage this day without much discomfort especially because his hands were healed.
Just as the waking dreams started to take over him, he heard footsteps approaching. 'Oh! Not again.', Eragon thought desperately, 'I won't last a minute of torture before I fall into the abyss again' The 'abyss' being the dreams of his past. The captain and the magician walked into the cell with a platter containing some stale bread. 'The drug', Eragon thought. He was always force-fed the drugs while he passed out. But he guessed because of the extraordinary circumstances of his passing out this time - he had killed a soldier - they must have forgotten feeding it into him.
They pushed it at him. He stared into the platter but did not eat it. "Risa", the magician said and the bread raised and stood level with Eragon's mouth. Finding no way to stop them mocking him, Eragon plucked the bread from mid-air and threw it on the magician's face. The magician looked angered beyond reason and rushing forward placed his boots on Eragon's head crushing it between the wall and his boots. Eragon's head throbbed like being hit by a war hammer. He caught the magician's legs with both of his hands and twisted it breaking a bone in his leg. It amazed even Eragon that he still had enough power in his hands to break bones. With a howl of agony, the magician fell on the ground.
The captain shouted for soldiers and six of them ran in. The captain ordered them to hold Eragon. They looked wary of him. 'Good. Now they know what I am capable of', he thought. The soldiers hesitantly neared him and held him strongly. He didn't fight them; he couldn't. He had expended the last of the energy in him in breaking the magician's leg. The captain came up to him and punched his face twice bruising it. Then he force-fed the bread to Eragon.
Eragon was in no position to resist and so swallowed the bread whole when it was thrust into his mouth. Once they had fed him with the drug-soaked bread, the magician came towards him and twisted his leg. A snap of bone was heard as Eragon had expected and as he had planned Eragon didn't cry out. He bit down his lips. His lips bled badly. But he would never give those filthy creatures the pleasure of his screaming.
Eragon was in deep agony. Not even half-an-hour ago he had thought that this day would be relatively easy on his body. But he was proved wrong. The hands were healed but a leg was broken. From somewhere in the dungeons, he heard the purring of a cat. His heart nearly leapt out of his ribs in uncontrolled joy for it was the first time since his capture that he was hearing the sound of something other than abusive soldiers and uninvited visitors.
Author's Note:
Sorry about Eragon's young days. Didn't pan out as I expected. But it shows his first killings. So I felt it to be important. And finally Eragon has vented his anger. And in what spectacular fashion? Killing a soldier. I loved it. And I think you would be baffled about Eragon's animalistic mind and individualistic mind: basically Eragon's is afraid but he overcomes it.
No comments:
Post a Comment