Erys: An Eragon Fanfiction - (Under Editing)

Chapter Twenty

Let The Dead Be Dead

Erys was alone in the dark. No? No, not alone. There was one other. One stood against the dark, back turned to her.

"Hello?" she dared.

He turned slowly. Light fell across a maggot-eaten face, glaring at her from the shadows. Blood bubbled from his throat and his chest was mangled. He smiled, blood coating his teeth. At the sight of him, fear seized Erys. He should be dead; he was dead! She'd crushed his chest. She'd seen the arrow. He was dead.  Dead and gone.

He staggered toward her, hand outreached; fear kept Erys in place. An inhuman scream filled the air as he rushed her, his movements disjointed.  A ghost-hand wrapped around her throat.

"Die now!"

Erys jolted awake with a cry, breathing heavily.  The ghostly impression of a hand wrapped around her throat still lingered.  She rubbed her neck, very much feeling like she needed to vomit.  Not wanting to wake anyone, she quieted her gasping and shifted into a sitting position, looking around her; it was too dark to see much. In the dark, every shape was a demon coming for her. She imagined shadows lurking near her. Waiting to grab her. Closing her eyes tight, Erys shrunk under the blankets, hiding under their warmth.

"Not real," she whispered. "He wasn't real. It wasn't real—"

She trailed off, sleep pulling her back into a suffocating web of nightmares. They were the spiders, and she the fly. The night was a tumult of visions of walking dead and screaming voices. Her father, Thalia's, the man from the night before. They clawed at her, spoke to her with voices dark as death itself; what they said wasn't clear, but the darkness of it was. The dead spoke their own tongue.

Erys woke the next day as the early morning light filtered through the window no more rested than when she'd lay down. She blinked and turned away from the lights' rays, snuggling farther under the blankets. With the warming rays of the sun chasing away the dark, she could almost forget everything that had happened; for a moment her bleeding heart almost let her believe she was back home, about to wake to see the faces of her mother and father. But she was not. Her father was dead, her mother worse, she herself was at death's door; she had visions of the dead, and her companions were no better off.

Erys hid under the covers, pain constricting her chest. It was not a physical pain, but it hurt nonetheless.

A wave of despair and fear crashed down on her. She sunk further under the sheets and for the first time sobbed freely. Her tears soaked into her pillow, and soon her face was wet with them. She let herself cry with abandon. Only when she'd exhausted herself did she cease sobbing, though her tears still streamed down her face to her chin where they dropped onto the now soaked pillow.

Exhaustion pulled her back to sleep; the faces of the dead hid from the light. When she woke again, she found herself too broken to cry.

A hand pressed against her shoulder, she ignored it.

"Mopin' won' do ya no good. Come'n eat."

The blankets were pulled away from her, and Koarna lifted her to her feet. She placed the staff in Erys' hand. She leaned heavily against it as she dragged her feet across the floor, silently following Koarna back to the dining area. Each step took the greatest effort.  The strain of running was slight compared with the stress of inactivity.

Erys slumped in a chair.

"Mornin'," Troeonn said.

Erys tapped her fingers against the staff.