Magpie: Chapter 6

Pushing Forward
There’s no such thing as a painless lesson. They just don’t exist. Sacrifices are necessary. You can’t gain anything without losing something first. Although if you can endure that pain and walk away from it, you’ll find that you now have a heart strong enough to overcome any obstacle. Yeah, a heart made fullmetal. –Edward Elric, Fullmetal Alchemist
Magpie hovered anxiously at Oromis’ bedside as the healer did her work. They had gotten into Hedarth less than 48 hours ago and worry had set in. What if the spell she had performed was only temporary? What if she hadn’t really brought Oromis back? What if he would be a shell? Would he wake up at all? Would he die again? Magpie didn’t think she could handle that.
She had raced on Cloudspeed all through the night, helped along by stealing energy from a herd of passing camels. That’s another thing Oromis would hate her for, she realized, killing a bunch of defenseless beasts. But she had to; it was the only way they had been able to make it to the border town in so short a time. And now Oromis was struggling with a rising temperature. She had at first thought it from their hastened ride across the Hadarac, the heat of the desert harsh upon them and Oromis weakened, but his fever had remained steady long after she had gotten him indoors.
So now all she could do was hover behind the dwarven healer and fret.  
“There is nothing I can do.” the healer said at last.
“You can’t be serious!” Magpie screeched.
The healer glared harshly at her.
“The wound on his back is closed and there is no sign of infection. His fever stems from something else and I cannot cure it.”
Magpie sighed and her wings drooped.
“I see.” she said.
She somberly thanked the healer for her trouble and sat down by Oromis’ bedside, watching every puff of breath he took, fearing it would be his last.
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Oromis found himself standing in a vast void of grey. He couldn’t remember what happened or how he got here, only that he hurt to his bones. He felt exhausted. He wanted to lie down and sleep but something kept telling him he couldn’t, not yet at least. What was it he was supposed to be doing?
“Oromis.”
The Rider looked around for the source of the voice.
“Oromis.” it said again, this time adding his, long, true name at the end.
Oromis felt as though he had been struck in the heart, only this time the wound buried itself into his soul, causing a cold, numbing feeling to spread throughout his body. He gasped, tears welling in his eyes and spilling onto his cheeks. He remembered now, the battle, his back being cleaved, Glaedr’s life draining from his body a second later.
“Child…” the voice said, and this time Oromis heard a faint rustling noise.
He looked up, body still shaking from the overwhelming feeling of loss, and beheld a strange but glorious creature. It looked like a snake, only it had four spindly limbs. Three pairs of wings cascaded down its feathered back and it looked at him from its crested head with glowing white eyes. It was unfathomably old, Oromis could sense this, and he could only stare in wonder.
“Child of the elder forest…” the creature began, “do you know with whom you have an audience?”
An image came to Oromis, of Magpie gleefully describing what her wind god looked like, and why she hung bits of glass from the trees to appease him.
“You are Rhuk…” Oromis said, part of him screaming that this moment was impossible.
“I am, and you are Oromis, the golden Rider of a bygone age.” the god replied.
Oromis swallowed, trying to still his trembling. It was so cold here. Where was here? Where was he? He asked.
“You are on the shores of death, where the not alive but not yet passed on linger.” Rhuk said, curling his long body around the shivering elf. “They wait for the Ghosting Nag to take them into the beyond.”
Oromis looked to where Rhuk was pointing his long snout and saw an emaciated grey horse hobbling through the mist. It spared them a single, tired glance with hollow eyes before disappearing into the endless fog that surrounded them.
“If that is my fate, why have you come?” Oromis queried, “are you not a creature of the sky, and this a realm of the dead?”
“Because my avatar has given you a chance to live again dear child.” Rhuk answered, “Magpie Greyfeathers has worked a spell that has caused your heart to beat, your lungs to breathe. But it is only by your wish, and your wish alone, that her spell will be completed. It is up to you, if you wish to live again.”
Oromis was stunned; Magpie had finally done what she had been striving for all these years. Her spell, that horrid spell that went against everything a good magician stood for, had worked. And it had worked on him. Oromis wanted to say he was flattered, but he knew that the spell had only worked on him, not on Glaedr who by now must be trapped inside his eldunari, in mourning or quite possibly mad with grief. If he chose to woke, Oromis realized, he might end up regretting it.
“Choosing to wake, of course,” Rhuk said thoughtfully, “would wipe your memories of our conversations, of this place. Should you chose to wake, you will have to find the reason why you chose to do so all over again. Chose to let go, and the Ghosting Nag will take you into the ether.”
Oromis felt his heart wrench in his chest. To die meant to be free of pain, free of burden. But it meant he would never again see Glaedr, unless Eragon smashed the eldunari. And it would also mean breaking Magpie’s heart. She had meant well, casting the spell, and probably hadn’t been thinking about the consequences at the time. Oromis sighed and closed his eyes, could he truly live as an Indvarn? Could he live with what Magpie had done? Would he ever see Glaedr again? What life lay in store for him if he chose to wake?
“Take your time, child,” Rhuk said, “there is no rush in the mists of the Grey Shore.”