Chapter 25: Phoenix Fire

Thin mist coiled around her face, her hands and her legs. Every inch of her skin was exposed and bare, shrouded in shadow, but no coldness touched her. Heavy iron shackles were fastened around her wrists and ankles, and were connected to lengths of chains of the manacle of another naked victim near her. Everywhere in her vision, clouded by a sheet of impenetrable smog, stretched naked bodies of men and women, fathers and mothers, the strong and the weak, the eldest and the youngest. They appeared like apparitions of a nightmare with a deliberate slowness of gait. There were the slim figures of children carrying babies, of hunched bodies doubled over like as if invisible whippings hung above their heads if they dared lift their eyes. Their eyes… there was no spark of life in them, and it seemed as if she was staring into the deepest pits of nothingness, and a coldness washed through her soul, leaving shivers in its wake.

Only then did she realize that her callused feet were moving by themselves with the crowd of the undead souls, and she stared down at them stupidly, as if unable to comprehend that they belonged to her. She willed her feet to stop, to remain inertly in place, but it was as impossible as transmuting them to gold. The linked chains pulled her forward like an invisible, inexorable gravity, and she felt herself powerless and struggle meaningless, like a toy boat caught in the unforgiving might of a typhoon.

Is this death? A cacophony of moans and wails filled the starless sky, reminding her of a sea of bedridden patients writhing in agony, doomed to a slow, painful end. She was beyond sadness, pain, fear, or regret. Her being felt hollow like an empty shell that harbored nothing inside.

The trek continued. Their feet did not grow tired of the steady pace or disheveled footsteps. Their moans did not cease, covering over the rattling and chinking of the chains. The mist continued to shroud them, not in darkness, but a kind of protection, a cleansing almost.

They walked for many eternities. Jeannette had long lost herself in the folds of time, and something inside her changed irrevocably. She remembered when she was just a child born in slavery. The days were long and the chores were hard, but to a certain degree, she was content then. Her memories with Wynfrith and Alanis were golden. Of course, there were also the days where she had suffered twenty lashes for disobedience, the days she would have done anything for a crust of bread, the days where she worked tirelessly without a wink of sleep. There were the beatings, the starvation, the exhaustion, but they were always eclipsed by something more: a touch of cheek, a grace of smile, a sense of belonging. As a slave, she had been so happy.

Then, there came Murtagh. The very thought of his name made a welter of emotions boil inside her. He was also a victim of fate, but he was so strong. He never faltered or hesitated. No matter how binding and debilitating the spells Galbatorix slammed into his mind, no matter how long or extensive the torture, he would never lose himself. It was this strength—this strength of spirit, of will, of identity so powerful that she had never met anyone else in the world similar to it. It was why, in the beginning, she had been attracted to him. The sincerity of his smile, the gentleness of his caress, the way he held his head up high, the power of his emotions… everything… the way his lips met hers under the moonlight, the warmth of his finger trailing her jaw and the love—the love expressed in his eyes in a way that words would never suffice…

It would have been better if they had never met. Then she would never have been entangled in this horrible, horrible mess. Then Lenora would never have died. Then she would not have become this disgusting creature of arrogance whom she did not recognize. She was no elf, no Rider, no unlikely heroine. She had dived into the deepest recesses of black magic and become this person… this thing that bore no resemblance to the human Jeannette. She was only a liability to Murtagh. Without her, he might find a way to escape Galbatorix's grasp. Since when did things become like this? Since when did I lose myself?

You are finally beginning to understand. The disdainful voice pierced through her consciousness, and there was no mistaking it.

Lavina, where are you? She raised her head in surprise.

Right here, the voice answered. Hovering to her left was a pale figure of marble-white skin and striking amethyst eyes. Her face was contorted with disdain and held traces of long-lost beauty.

How are you here? What is this place? So many questions were burning inside her curiosity that she didn't know where to begin.

This is the Gate of Meridion. This has been my haven for many eternities, as I linger here between life and death. Time does not exist in this plane. Seconds may appear to be eternities, while millennia may pass in the blink of an eye. Here, the souls who died of unnatural deaths assemble, those who were murdered unwillingly and slaughtered unjustly. The chosen few will be reborn in reincarnations, but most of them will slowly cease to exist.

So I'm going to disappear?

Most likely. Blunt, but effective.

Is there no way out? Must this be the end of me?

Lavina was silent in contemplation, and after what seemed like an eternity, she replied, There is a black magic called Phoenix Fire. It is a power so precarious that even Galbatorix dares not wield it even though he knows of its existence.

Will it save me?

It might give you a chance. That is, if the spell succeeds.

Then why have you not used it upon yourself?

A corner of her lip tugged. Because Galbatorix himself has condemned me to never again walk among the living. If we combine our strength, then perhaps… Do you want to live?

In any other predicament, she would have laughed at the question. It echoes sounded so similar to that of playful banter when she was in the company of Alanis or Murtagh, but here, death and life were no longer so abstract. Death would be such an easy escape, a painless end, but she also knew that it was the coward's path. Yes, she realized. Yes, she wanted to live more than anything else in the world. A surge of the most primitive desire—the will to live—flooded the center of her being. It slammed into her so strongly that her body trembled in need and tears clouded her vision. Even if it was for one last time, she wanted to feel the warmth of the morning sun shine upon her face… the ability to gaze upon the innocence of a child… the simple pleasure of watching the morning lilies bloom in the wind… the serenity of watching the world transform into a blanket of white powder… if only one more time, she wanted to see the infinite expanse of the azure sky.

But most of all, she wanted to atone for her sins. If she aided the downfall of Galbatorix, it may, perhaps, ease a portion of her guilt for Lenora's death. Part of that atonement, she decided, included self-punishment. She condemned herself from letting Murtagh know of her existence until he had escaped the influence of Galbatorix. She knew that these measures were miniscule in comparison to the suffering she had wrought, but for now, it would suffice.

That was not a trick question, foolish girl.

Yes, yes, of course I want to live.

Then listen closely. The sheer amount of power necessary is only possible if we combine our identities. This means that I will permanently manifest in a part of your consciousness.

Very well.

If we are successful, then we will live once again for twelve full moons and no more.

And after twelve full moons?

Lavina was silent, and her eyes were more solemn than she had ever seen them. That knowledge eludes me.

Jeannette stared agape. You… don't know? You don't know what will happen to us after a year? How do you know our souls won't burn eternally in hell?

I don't. Phoenix Fire is a double-edged blade, just like any black magic.

She gritted her teeth. More like sealing our fate with the devil. Are you purposefully deceiving me so I submit to a worse fate?

What, what do you think will happen? I'll take over your body and seduce Murtagh for myself? I no longer play with such childish fantasies. My obsession is the revenge… the hunt… the kill. Outside of that, nothing matters.

Suddenly, everything became clear. Ever since the beginning, Lavina's sole motive was to kill Galbatorix. The motive was honest enough, but the hate and obsession the dark witch harbored… wouldn't the force of those emotions unleash a greater evil?

I have lingered in this plane for so many eternities that it would turn every man in history insane. My soul has wandered the dimensions of the living as long as Galbatorix himself. Do not lecture me on philosophical balderdash called morality. I will ask you one last time: do you want to live or not?

Her violet-eyed daughter closed her eyes, and the chain rattled one last time, before she spoke words truer than any before in her life: Yes.

MWHAHAHAHAHA! I bet you all thought that I had given up on this story and trashed it. An update at this time was probably the last thing you ever expected to land in your inbox. Well, you were partially right. For this update, thank the recent reviewers who gave me a spark of hope, but mostly my best friend Andrew who sent me the eBook of Brisingr. I had planned to get it in print pretty soon, but because he sent me the electronic copy, this came out to you maybe a month sooner. I am still in the process of analyzing Paolini's diction and some syntax, because it eludes me how he manages to wrack his brain for the most archaic but cool-sounding words in an impressive array of purple prose and tongue twisters. I'm only about two-thirds through the book, and I must say that Paolini does not know the meaning of: skip the parts the readers won't read. I mean seriously, DID HE HAVE TO USE UP TEN PAGES JUST TO EXPLAIN HOW HE FLEW OUT OF HELGRIND CARRYING SLOAN? AND ANOTHER TEN PAGES DESCRIBING HIS CONFLICT OF HOW TO GET RID OF THIS GUY?

Relating back to this story again, judging on the response, I'll determine whether I have a pointless and sad ending or an unrealistically happy ending. I'll try to update once I get to winter break, but don't bet on it. I also need to incorporate more Murtagh, for goodness' sakes.

Oh yeah, and a truly sincere thank-you for everyone who has stuck with me. You have my utmost and honest appreciation.