You must learn to center yourself, said Glaedr. Then these lesser concerns will not bother you.
I know….And I know there are many, many things I can’t control. Eragon allowed himself a brief, grim smile. But knowing and doing are two different things.
Then another mind joined theirs, that of Umaroth, one of the oldest Eldunarí. Out of reflex, Eragon glanced toward the white heart of hearts that contained the dragon’s consciousness.
Umaroth said, What you need is a distraction, that your mind might rest and reset.
That I do, said Eragon.
Then perhaps we can help, Argetlam. Remember you how my wingmates and I kept watch upon Alagaësia from within the Vault of Souls?
…Yes, said Eragon, already having an inkling of what the dragon was hinting at.
He was right. We have continued the practice, Argetlam, as a means of whiling away the days, but also that we might stay abreast of events and not be surprised by the rise of some new enemy.
More minds joined Umaroth’s: the rest of the Eldunarí, pressing in around Eragon’s consciousness like a sea of growling voices. As always, it took a concentrated effort to ward them off and keep hold of his own thoughts. Why am I not surprised?
If you wish, said Glaedr, we can show you some of what we see. A vision of elsewhere that might provide you with a new perspective.
Eragon hesitated as he considered the offer. How long will it take?
As long as is required, youngling, said Umaroth. Worrying about the time is exactly what you need curing of. Does the eagle worry about the length of the day? Does the bear or the deer or the fish in the sea? No. So why should you? Chew what you can and leave the rest for tomorrow.
All right, said Eragon. He lifted his chest and took a deep breath as he prepared himself. Show me, then.
Inexorable as the onrushing tide, the dragons’ minds washed over his own. They swept Eragon out of his body, out of the Hall of Colors and away from snow-clad Mount Arngor and all his cares and worries, carrying him toward the familiar yet distant lands of Alagaësia.
Images blossomed before him, and within them Eragon saw and felt far more than he’d expected….
CHAPTER II
A Fork in the Road
It was two days past Maddentide, and the first flakes of snow were drifting from the starry sky onto the city of Ceunon.
Essie didn’t notice. She stomped down the cobblestone alley behind the Yarstead house, her mouth set in a hard line and her cheeks burning as she struggled not to cry. She hated stupid, mean Hjordis, with her fake smile and her pretty bows and all her nasty little insults. Hated her.
And then there was poor Carth. Essie couldn’t stop thinking about his reaction. He had looked so betrayed when she’d pushed him into the trough. He hadn’t even said anything, just sat where he had fallen and gaped at her while his eyes went big and round.
Her dress sleeve was still wet from where the muddy water had splashed her.
The familiar sound of waves slapping against the underside of the wharves grew louder as she approached the docks. She kept to the alleys—kept to the narrow ways that the adults rarely used. Overhead, a rook with fluffed-out feathers sat perched on the eaves of the Sorting House. It cocked its head and opened its beak to utter a mournful cry.
Essie shivered, though not from the cold, and pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. A dog had howled during the night, the candle on the little shelf where they left offerings of milk and bread for the Svartlings had gone out, and now a lone rook had called. Bad omens all. Was there more ill fortune coming her way? She didn’t think she could bear anything worse….
She slipped between the smelly drying racks by the edge of the fish market and came into the street. Ahead of her, music and conversation sounded, and warm light spilled out of the front of the Fulsome Feast. The windows of the inn were crystal, specially made by the dwarves, and they gleamed like diamond in the flickering light. It was a point of pride for Essie every time she saw the windows, even now. No other building on the street had anything so pretty.
Inside, the common room was as loud and busy as ever. Essie ignored the guests and went to the bar. Papa was there pouring beer, washing out mugs, and serving dishes of smoked herring. He glanced at her as she ducked under the half door at the end of the bar.
“You’re late,” he said.
“Sorry, Papa.” Essie got a plate and loaded it with a heel of bread, a wedge of hard Sartos cheese, and a half-dried apple—all taken from the shelf under the bar. She was still too small to help with the serving, but she would help with the cleaning up later.
And then later still, once everyone had gone to bed, she would sneak down to the cellar, gather the supplies she needed….
She carried the plate to an empty chair in front of the great stone fireplace. Next to the chair was a small table, and on the other side of it, a second chair—this one with a man sitting in it. He was lean and dark-eyed, with a neat beard and a long black travel cloak bunched around him. A plate balanced on his knee, and he was slowly eating a serving of Mama’s roasted turnips and mutton, stabbing at the pieces with one of the inn’s iron forks.
Essie didn’t care. He was just another traveler, like so many who came to the Fulsome Feast.
She plopped down in the free chair and tore off part of the heel of bread, imagining that it was Hjordis’s head she was tearing off….She continued to rip at the food with her fingers and teeth, and she chewed with a ferocity that was oddly satisfying.
She still felt as if she was about to cry, which just made her more angry. Crying was for little children. Crying was for weaklings who got pushed around and told what to do. That wasn’t her!
She made a noise of frustration as she bit into the apple and the stem got stuck in the gap between her front teeth.
“You seem upset,” the man next to her said in a mild tone.
Essie scowled. She plucked the stem from between her teeth and flung it into the fireplace. “It’s all Hjordis’s fault!” Papa didn’t like her talking to the guests too much, but she had never minded him. The visitors always had interesting stories, and many of them would ruffle her hair and comment on how adorable she was and give her candied nuts or syrup twists (in the winter, at least).
“Oh?” said the man. He put down his fork and turned in his seat to better look at her. “And who is this Hjordis?”
“She’s the daughter of Jarek. He’s the earl’s chief mason,” said Essie, sullen.
“I see. Does that make her important?”
Essie shook her head. “It makes her think she’s important.”
“What did she do to upset you, then?”
“Everything!” Essie took a savage bite out of the apple and chewed so hard and quick she bit the inside of her mouth. She winced and swallowed, trying to ignore the pain.
The man drank from the mug by his hand. “Most interesting,” he said, and used a napkin to dab a fleck of foam off his mustache. “Well then, is it a tale you feel like telling? Perhaps talking about it will make you feel better.”
Essie looked at him, slightly suspicious. He had an open face, but there was an intensity to his dark eyes, and a slight hardness too, that she wasn’t sure about. “Papa wouldn’t want me to bother you.”
“I have some time,” said the man easily. “I’m just waiting for a certain associate of mine who, alas, happens to be habitually late. If you wish to share your tale of woe, then please, consider me your devoted audience.”
He used a lot of big words, and his accent wasn’t one Essie was familiar with. It seemed overly careful, as if he were sculpting the air with his tongue. Despite that, and despite the hardness of his eyes, she decided he seemed like a nice person.
She bounced her feet off the legs of the chair. “Well…I’d like to tell you, but I can’t poss
ibly unless we’re friends.”
“Is that so? And how do we become friends?”
“You have to tell me your name! Silly.”
The man smiled. He had pretty teeth. “Of course. How foolish of me. In that case, my name is Tornac.” And he held out his hand. His fingers were long and pale, but strong-looking. His nails were trimmed square.
“Essie Siglingsdaughter.” She could feel a row of calluses on his palm as they shook hands.
“Very nice to meet you, Essie. Now then, what seems to be bothering you?”
Essie stared at the partially eaten apple in her hand. She sighed and put it back on the plate. “It’s all Hjordis’s fault.”
“So you said.”
“She’s always being mean to me and making her friends tease me.”
Tornac’s expression grew serious. “That’s not good at all.”
Encouraged, Essie shook her head, allowing her outrage to shine forth. “No! I mean…sometimes they tease me anyway, but, um, Hjordis—when she’s there, it gets really bad.”
“Is that what happened today?”
“Yes. Sort of.” She broke off a piece of cheese and nibbled on it while she thought back over the past few weeks. Tornac waited patiently. She liked that about him. He reminded her of a cat. Finally, she gathered the courage to say, “Before harvest, Hjordis started being nicer to me. I thought—I thought maybe things were going to be better. She even invited me to her house.” Essie glanced at Tornac. “It’s right by the castle.”
“Impressive.”
Essie nodded, glad he understood. “She gave me one of her ribbons, a yellow one, and said that I could come to her Maddentide party.”
“And did you?”
Another bob of her head. “It—it was today.” Hot tears filled her eyes, and she blinked furiously, disappointed with herself.
“Here now,” said Tornac, looking concerned. He held out a square of soft white cloth.
At first Essie was reluctant to accept. The cloth was so clean! But then the tears started running down her cheeks, and she grabbed the kerchief and wiped her eyes. “Thank you, mister.”
Another small smile appeared on the man’s face. “It’s been a long time since I’ve been called mister, but you’re very welcome. I take it the party didn’t go well?”
Essie scowled and pushed the kerchief back toward him. She wasn’t going to cry anymore. Not her. “The party was fine. It was Hjordis. She got mean again, after, and…and”—Essie took a deep breath, as if to fill her stomach with courage—“and she said that if I didn’t do what she wanted, she would tell her father not to use our inn during the solstice celebration.” She peered at Tornac, wondering if he knew why that was so important. “All the masons come here to drink and”—she hiccupped, despite herself—“they drink a lot, and it means they spend stacks and stacks of coppers.”
Tornac put his plate on the table and leaned toward her. His cloak rustled like wind in the thatching. His face was very serious. “What did she want you to do?”
Ashamed, Essie stared at her muddy shoes. “She wanted me to push Carth into a horse trough,” she said, tripping over the words in her rush to get them out.
“Carth is a friend of yours?”
Essie nodded, miserable. They’d known each other since she was three. “He lives on the docks. His father is a fisher.”
“So he wouldn’t get invited to a party like this.”
“No, but Hjordis sent her handmaid to bring him to the house and…” Essie stared at Tornac, her expression fierce. “I didn’t have no choice! If I hadn’t pushed him, then she would have told her father not to come to the Fulsome Feast.”
“I understand,” said Tornac in a soothing tone. “So you pushed your friend. Were you able to apologize to him?”
“No,” Essie said, feeling even worse. “I—I ran. But everyone saw. He won’t want to be friends with me anymore. No one will. Hjordis just meant to trick me, and I hate her.” Essie grabbed the apple and took another quick bite. Her teeth clacked together.
Tornac opened his mouth to say something, but at that moment, Papa came by on his way to deliver a pair of mugs to a table by the wall. He gave her a disapproving look. “My daughter isn’t making a nuisance of herself, is she, Master Tornac? She has a bad habit of pestering guests when they’re trying to eat.”
“Not at all,” said Tornac, smiling. “I’ve been on the road for far too long with nothing but the sun and the moon for company. A bit of conversation is exactly what I need. In fact—” His fingers dipped under his belt, and Essie saw a flash of silver as he reached out to her father. “Perhaps you can see to it that the tables next to us remain clear. I’m expecting an associate of mine, and we have some, ah, business to discuss.”
The coins disappeared into his apron, and Papa bobbed his head. “Of course, Master Tornac.” He glanced at her again, his expression slightly concerned, and then continued on his way.
Essie felt a sudden pang of remorse. Papa was going to be so sad when she was gone. But there was no other choice. She had to leave.
“Now then,” said Tornac, stretching his long legs out toward the fire. “You were telling me your tale of woe, Essie Siglingsdaughter. Was that the full accounting?”
“That was it,” Essie said in a small voice.
Tornac picked up the fork from his plate and began to twirl it between his fingers. She found the sight vaguely entrancing. “Things can’t be as bad as you think. I’m sure if you explain to your friend—”
“No,” she said, firm. She knew Carth. He wouldn’t forgive her for what she’d done. None of her friends along the docks would. They’d think she’d turned against them to join Hjordis and the other children by the castle. And in a way, she had. “He won’t understand. He won’t trust me again. They’ll hate me for it.”
A cutting edge entered Tornac’s voice. “Then maybe they weren’t really your friends.”
Essie couldn’t bear the thought. “They were. You don’t understand!” And she brought her fist down on the arm of the chair in an impatient stamp. “Carth is…He’s really nice. Everyone likes him, and now they won’t like me. You wouldn’t know. You’re all big and…and old.”
Tornac’s eyebrows climbed toward his hairline. “You might be surprised what I know. So they won’t like you. What are you going to do about it?”
Essie didn’t mean to say, but the words slipped out of her before she thought better of it: “I’m going to run away.” The moment she realized what she’d done, she gave Tornac a panicked look. “Don’t tell Papa, please!”
Tornac took another sip from his mug and then smoothed his beard. He didn’t seem upset by her plan, not the way Essie knew Papa would be. Rather, he seemed to be taking her seriously, which Essie liked.
“And where would you go?” he asked.
Essie had already been thinking about that. “South, where it’s warm. There’s a caravan leaving tomorrow. The foreman comes here. He’s nice. I can sneak out, and then ride with them to Gil’ead.”
Tornac picked at his fork with the tip of a fingernail. “And then?”
After that, things got a bit hazy in Essie’s mind, but she knew what her ultimate goal would be. “I want to visit the Beor Mountains and see the dwarves!” she said. The thought excited her. “They made our windows. Aren’t they pretty?” She pointed.
“They certainly are,” said Tornac.
“Have you ever visited the Beor Mountains?”
“I have,” said Tornac. “Once, long ago.”
Impressed, Essie looked at him with renewed interest. “Really? Are they as tall as everyone says?”
“So tall the peaks aren’t even visible.”
She leaned back in her chair as she tried to picture that. The effort made her dizzy. “How wonderful.”
A snort escaped Tornac. “If you don’t count being shot at with arrows, then yes….You do realize, Essie Siglingsdaughter, that running away won’t solve your problems here.”
“Of course not,” she said. His statement seemed very obvious to her. “But if I leave, then Hjordis can’t bother me anymore.” Essie made a face.
Tornac almost looked as if he were going to laugh, but then he took another sip from his mug, and afterward he seemed more solemn. “Or, and this is just a suggestion, you could try to fix the problem instead of running away.”
“It can’t be fixed,” she said, stubborn.
“What about your parents? I’m sure they would miss you terribly. Do you really want to make them suffer like that?”
Essie crossed her arms. This wasn’t going the way she wanted. Tornac had been agreeable so far. Why was he arguing with her now? “They have my brother and my sister and Olfa. He’s only two.” She pouted. “They wouldn’t miss me.”
“I very much doubt that,” said Tornac. “Besides, think what you did with Hjordis. You helped protect the Fulsome Feast. If your parents understood the sacrifice you made, I’m sure they would be very proud.”
“Uh-huh,” said Essie, unconvinced. “There wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t for me. I’m the problem. If I go away, everything will be all right.” Feeling determined, she picked up the apple core and threw it into the great fireplace.
A whirl of sparks flew up the chimney, and she heard the sizzle of water exploding into steam.
In an overly casual tone, Tornac said, “What is that?”
“What?” she said.
“There, on your arm.”
Essie looked down and saw her sleeve had ridden up, exposing the twisted red scar on her left wrist. Ashamed, she tugged the cuff down. “Nothing,” she mumbled.
“May I?” said Tornac, and held out his hand toward her. At first Essie hesitated, but he seemed so polite and so assured that at last she relented and let him take her arm.
The Fork, the Witch, and the Worm Page 2