Erys: An Eragon Fanfiction - (Under Editing)

Horizon

Erys and Eirdain kept up the practice of daily sparring; unlike Murtagh, she found battling Eirdain to be easy. She battered him relentlessly with more brute strength than grace. Eirdain believed Erys might have killed him in her anger were it not for her warding; she guarded the edge of the blade before each match and made sure to remove it afterwards. If they were surprised, it wouldn't do any good to wield a dulled blade.  Even with the warding, Eirdain worried she might do some irreparable harm.  He duelled carefully, making sure to avoid her blade where he could.  They went to bed exhausted, taking three hour shifts to watch for danger.

Erys checked their map daily; it did little good in the unchanging landscape of the mountain.  And still they trudged on. Erys held resentment in her heart over Murtagh's words. Why should she not value her mother's life?  Yet, she couldn't disregard completely what he'd taught her. It angered her to accept, but he'd had his uses.  But while he'd aided her, she could not consider him an ally.  There were none she trusted alive in this world save her mother, and Murtagh had forsaken her.  That hatred festered within her.  She let it grow, fuelling her drive to survive and protect those she had left.

Day by day, it ate at her. She ate with it on her mind, travelled with it on her mind, and slept with it on her mind.  In the dark of night, nothing could stop her torment.  Even her dreams held no sanctuary.

She shivered. A cold washed over her.

"You are close. I can feel you. I can see you."

Remembering Keilith's advice, and wishing to honour him in death, Erys said nothing.

"Your silence is...concerning. Have your forgotten your oath?"

"I swore not to tell anyone; I never swore to come," she challenged.

"No."

"Go," Erys commanded.

"No!"

"Go!"

Her head was filled with an unholy wail and what Erys could assume was a mental attack hit her with full force. Something like thunder—but completely physical without sound, and coming from within like she could feel it in her bones, shaking her very being—ripped through the air. While frightening, the impact did little else than wake her up.

Erys sat forward. It was dark, nearly pitch black. Wind rustled the leaves and brushed against her. She shivered at the feeling of a touch at the back of her neck and swatted a dying branch away. Somewhere within the dark, birds called, animals growled, leaves crackled, twigs snapped. The ominous notes of the force reverberated in her chest until they faded completely, leaving her cold and shivering. She breathed heavily, the air misting before her mouth. Her hair clung to the sides of her face and the nape of her neck.

Erys looked around for any sign of intrusion; such an attack had to be made from close range.  Her line of vision ended just a few feet past the tree line at which they slept. Etched into the root of a tree were deep gouges; the wind pushed the bushes back, obscuring the mark.

Erys stood quietly and stepped around her sleeping companions. Eirdain and Khyiana slept next to each other. She ignored Du Thirr—still keeping solemn watch—altogether. Erys slept on her own, despite the biting cold. She knelt at the base of the tree, pushing the thicket aside to reveal the roots. Slashes marred the bark. Sap bleed from the mark, cut deep.

A raven croaked from a branch above; sap clung to its talons. It looked at her, blinked, and winged its way east. Erys watched it fly off. It might have been her imagination, though Erys swore she saw the darkness clear, if only slightly. She watched until she could no longer see the raven.