The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  Eragon stared with wonder. He had never thought of pebbles or boulders as alive, yet here was proof that all they needed was water and salt to flourish. It finally explained how

  rocks had continued to appear in their fields in Palancar Valley, even after the soil had been combed clean each spring. They grew!

  They proceeded to Urûr, master of the air and heavens, and his brother Morgothal, god of fire. At the carmine statue of Morgothal, the priest told how the brothers loved each other

  so much, neither could exist independently. Thus, Morgothal's burning place in the sky during the day, and the sparks from his forge that appeared overhead every night. And also

  thus, how Urûr constantly fed his sibling so he would not die. Only two more gods were left after that: Sindri – mother of the earth – and Helzvog.

  Helzvog's statue was different from the rest. The nude god was bowed in half over a dwarfsized lump of gray flint, caressing it with the tip of his forefinger. The muscles of his

  back bunched and knotted with inhuman strain, yet his expression was incredibly tender, as if a newborn child lay before him.

  Gannel's voice dropped to a low rasp: Gûntera may be King of the Gods, but it is Helzvog who holds our hearts. It was he who felt that the land should be peopled after the giants

  were vanquished. The other gods disagreed, but Helzvog ignored them and, in secret, formed the first dwarf from the roots of a mountain. When his deed was discovered, jealousy

  swept the gods and Gûntera created elves to control Alagaësia for himself. Then Sindri brought forth humans from the soil, and Urûr and Morgothal combined their knowledge and

  released dragons into the land. Only Kílf restrained herself. So the first races entered this world."

  Eragon absorbed Gannel's words, accepting the clan chief's sincerity but unable to quell a simple question: How does he know? Eragon sensed that it would be an awkward query,

  however, and merely nodded as he listened.

  "This," said Gannel, finishing the last of his ale, "leads to our most important rite, which I know Orik has discussed with you… All dwarves must be buried in stone, else our spirits

  will never join Helzvog in his hall. We are not of the earth, air, or fire, but of stone. And as Ingeitum, it is your responsibility to assure a proper resting place for any dwarf who may die in your company. If you fail – in the absence of injury or enemies – Hrothgar will exile you, and no dwarf will acknowledge your presence until after your death." He

  straightened his shoulders, staring hard at Eragon. "You have much more to learn, yet uphold the customs I outlined today and you will do well."

  Mariah held her breath, slipping between buildings like a sneak thief. Never in her life did she believe she would have to hide and snake her way through her own home village. In a

  half crouch, she waited, watching familiar faces running back and forth through the streets, listening to the shouts of voices she knew all too well. Her heart beat harder with every

  word. She had to find Roran. All in all, she was too embarrassed, too scared to show her face to anyone else. It was her fault this was happening and she felt too guilty to do

  anything else.

  It started growing darker, the sun nearly set when she saw a familiar figure step out of a house nearby. Mariah tensed, putting her weight on the balls of her feet before springing

  forward with lightning speed, grabbing his arm and half throwing him into an alley before anyone could follow him and interrupt.

  She should have expected it, but the punch to her face sent her flying back into the wall. They were all on high alert because of the Ra'zac and the Empire's soldiers, the reflex was

  natural. Mariah didn't think Roran could punch that hard. He tightened his grip on something sharp in his hand and she choked out a slight yelp.

  "Wait" she panted, rubbing the corner of her mouth, which was fresh with blood. "Roran. Don't."

  He paused, squinting a bit. "…Mariah?"

  Relieved, she let out a sigh, getting to her feet and stepping closer to him. "Stay quiet, please."

  "What are you doing here?"

  "It's a long story, I don't have much time."

  He put his weapon back through his belt loop – a hammer. She smiled a little, finding it fitting for a blacksmith's apprentice. "Where's Eragon?"

  "I… don't know."

  "Mark?"

  "Hopefully with Eragon."

  "What are you doing here?" He asked again, squinting at her through the dusk.

  She shivered, "I was captured by the Empire. I was sent here by Galbatorix to bring you to him."

  Roran stared at her, his voice dropping, "You're serious. Why? What do you have to do with anything?"

  "I'm a Dragon Rider." She said, watching his face, "And so is Eragon."

  "You can't be…"

  "I'm dead serious Roran. And there's another Rider, just up on the hill outside of town. She's two minutes away from flying in here and torching everything. She sent me to get you.

  If you come with me, nothing bad will happen."

  "How can you be sure?"

  "I can't – which is why I want you to run."

  "What?"

  "You heard me. I need you to take everyone in to the mountains and run, escape as fast as you can. She won't follow. She can't." Mariah insisted, "She's as scared of the Spine as

  her father. She told me as much while we were flying here."

  "Her father?"

  "…her father is Galbatorix."

  Roran stared at her, leaning against the wall and slipping to the ground. "Mariah… this is all too much to take. You can't be serious."

  "I'm dead serious Roran." She said, kneeling next to him and taking his hand, "Look at me." He did so. "You may think I'm crazy. But if you do nothing else in your entire life,

  believe me right now." Mariah said to him, tearing up slightly, "If you don't take everyone and run, right now, tonight, then everyone you have known since you were born will be

  dead by morning. Carvahall will be burnt to the ground and everyone will be dead. I can promise you that, on my life."

  "Roran?"

  Mariah snapped her head up, looking at a woman standing in the alleyway entrance. Her voice wavered slightly as she spoke, like she was scared.

  "Katrina, it's okay." Roran insisted, getting up slowly.

  The Rider stood up, "Katrina."

  "Mariah? Roran, what's going on?"

  "She's here to help," he insisted, walking to her, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't worry."

  Mariah watched them, "Roran… you have to believe me. If you don't"

  "I know." He said shortly, kissing Katrina's forehead. "We'll be gone by morning."

  "By midnight… she won't wait. Bring only what you can carry while running and go."

  Katrina looked between Roran and Mariah, "What's happening?"

  She stepped over to them, "Roran will explain everything, don't worry Katrina, everything will be alright." Mariah told her. The older lady just looked at her and Mariah felt her

  heart tense. Any year prior to this one, she would have been taking advice and reassurance from her, not giving it. "I guess… being a Rider does this to people." She said to herself

  quietly. Mariah watched the two of them for a moment before realizing how he was holding her. "…you're engaged."

  "As of yesterday," Roran confirmed, looking at Mariah again.

  Mariah started crying silently. She didn't know why, it just happened. Quickly, she found herself praying that they survived the next few days, months escaping from the Empire.

  "You're in so much danger Roran… please know that."

  He stared at her. "…where's Eragon, Mariah?"

  "Safe… he's safe Roran. That much I do know…"

  "He should have been with you."

  "No. No, he shouldn't have been," she shook her head.

  Roran shook his head, letting go of Katrina and walking bac
k to Mariah. "If I know him at all, he would have given anything to protect you."

  "He almost died protecting me once, it was my turn to protect him."

  "You," he started, pausing. "…what is that other Rider going to do to you when she realizes what you've done?"

  "I don't know." Mariah admitted. "She will burn down Carvahall though…" Her tears had dried on her cheeks. "And I'll have to help her. I'll lie to her and pray she doesn't discover

  the truth. I have to go." She started out of the alley and paused by Katrina, turning to look at her. "It is… an awful time, but I wish for you to be happy and for you to smile on your

  wedding day, hoping the day isn't too far away. Waíse ilia, Katrina." She touched her cheek with her silver palm and smiled a little. Dropping her hand, she turned and ran as fast

  as she could out of the village into the darkness.

  Satisfied, Gannel led him away from the statues and up a winding staircase. As they climbed, the clan chief dipped a hand into his robe and withdrew a simple necklace, a chain

  threaded through the pommel of a miniature silver hammer. He gave it to Eragon.

  "This is another favor Hrothgar asked of me," Gannel explained. "He worries that Galbatorix may have gleaned an image of you from the minds of Durza, the Ra'zac, or any number

  of soldiers who saw you throughout the Empire."

  "Why should I fear that?"

  "Because then Galbatorix could scry you. Perhaps he already has."

  A shiver of apprehension wormed down Eragon's side, like an icy snake. I should have thought of that, he berated himself.

  "The necklace will prevent anyone from scrying you or your dragon, as long as you wear it. I placed the spell myself, so it should hold before even the strongest mind. But be

  forewarned, when activated, the necklace will draw upon your strength until you either take it off or the danger has passed."

  "What if I'm asleep? Could the necklace consume all my energy before I was aware of it?"

  "Nay. It will wake you."

  Eragon rolled the hammer between his fingers. It was difficult to avert another's spells, least of all Galbatorix's. If Gannel is so accomplished, what other enchantments might be

  hidden in his gift? He noticed a line of runes cut along the hammer's haft. They spelled Astim Hefthyn. The stairs ended as he asked, "Why do dwarves write with the same runes as

  humans?"

  For the first time since they met, Gannel laughed, his voice booming through the temple as his large shoulders shook. "It is the other way around; humans write with

  When your ancestors landed in Alagaësia, they were as illiterate as rabbits. However, they soon adopted our alphabet and matched it to this language. Some of your words even

  come from us, like father, which was originally farthen."

  "So then Farthen Dûr means…?" Eragon slipped the necklace over his head and tucked it under his tunic.

  "Our Father."

  Stopping at a door, Gannel ushered Eragon through to a curved gallery located directly below the cupola. The passageway banded Celbedeil, providing a view through the open

  archways of the mountains behind Tarnag, as well as the terraced city far below.

  Eragon barely glanced at the landscape, for the gallery's inner wall was covered with a single continuous painting, a gigantic narrative band that began with a depiction of the

  dwarves' creation under Helzvog's hand. The figures and objects stood in relief from the surface, giving the panorama a feeling of hyperrealism with its saturated, glowing colors

  and minute detail.

  Captivated, Eragon asked, "How was this made?"

  "Each scene is carved out of small places of marble, which are fired with enamel, then fitted into a single piece.

  "Wouldn't it be easier to use regular paint?"

  "It would," said Gannel, "but not if we wanted it to endure centuries – millennia – without change. Enamel never fades or loses its brilliancy, unlike oil paint. This first section was

  carved only a decade after the discovery of Farthen Dûr, well before elves set foot on Alagaësia."

  The priest took Eragon by the arm and guided him along the tableau. Each step carried them through uncounted years of history.

  Eragon saw how the dwarves were once nomads on a seemingly endless plain, until the land grew so hot and desolate they were forced to migrate south to the Beor Mountains.

  That was how the Hadarac Desert was formed, he realized, amazed.

  As they proceeded down the mural, heading toward the back of Celbedeil, Eragon witnessed everything from the domestication of Feldûnost to the carving of Isidar Mithrim, the first meeting between dwarves and elves, and the coronation of each new dwarf king. Dragons frequently appeared, burning and slaughtering. Eragon had difficult restraining comment

  during those sections.

  His steps slowed as the painting shifted to the event he had hoped to find: the war between elves and dragons. Here the dwarves had devoted a vast amount of space to the

  destruction wreaked upon Alagaësia by the two races. Eragon shuddered with horror at the sight of elves and dragons killing each other. The battles continued for yards, each image more bloody than the last, until the darkness lifted and a young elf was shown kneeling on the edge of a cliff, holding a white dragon egg.

  "Is that…?" whispered Eragon.

  "Aye, it's Eragon, the First Rider. It's a good likeness too, as he agreed to sit for our artisans.

  Drawn forward by his fascination, Eragon studied the face of his namesake. I always imagined him older. The elf had angled eyes that peered down a hooked nose and narrow chin,

  giving him a fierce appearance. It was an alien face, completely different from his own… and yet the set of his shoulders, high and tense, reminded Eragon of how he had felt upon

  finding Saphira's egg. We're not so different, you and I, he thought, touching the cool enamel. And once my ears match yours, we shall truly be brothers through time… I wonder, would you approve of my actions? He knew they had made at least one identical choice; they had both kept the egg.

  He heard a door open and close and turned to see Arya approaching from the far end of the gallery. She scanned the wall with the same blank expression Eragon had seen her use

  when confronting the Council of Elders. Whatever her specific emotions, he sensed that she found the situation distasteful.

  Arya inclined her head, "Grimstborith."

  "Arya."

  "You have been educating Eragon in your mythology?"

  Gannel smiled flatly. "One should always understand the faith of the society that one belongs to."

  "Yet comprehension does not imply belief." She fingered the pillar of an archway. "Nor does it mean that those who purvey such beliefs do so for more than… material gain."

  "You would deny the sacrifices my clan makes to bring comfort to our brethren?"

  "I deny nothing, only ask what good might be accomplished if your wealth were spread among the needy, the starving, the homeless, or even to buy supplies for the Varden.

  Instead, you've piled it into a monument to your own wishful thinking."

  "Enough!" The dwarf clenched his fists, his face mottled. "Without us, the crops would wither in drought. Rivers and lakes would flood. Our flocks would give birth to oneeyed

  beasts. The very heavens would shatter under the gods' rage!" Arya smiled. "Only our prayers and service prevent that from happening. If not for Helzvog, where"

  Eragon soon lost track of the argument. He did not understand Arya's vague criticisms of Dûrgrimst Quan, but he gathered from Gannel's responses that, in some indirect way, she

  had implied that the dwarf gods did not exist, questioned the mental capacity of every dwarf who entered a temple, and pointed out what she took to be flaws in their reasoning –

  all in a pleasant and polite voice.

  After a few minutes, Arya raised her hand, stopping Gannel, and said, "That i
s the difference between us, Grimstborith. You devote yourself to that which you believe to be true but

  cannot prove. There, we must agree to disagree." She turned to Eragon then, "Az Sweldn rak Anhûin has inflamed Tarnag's citizens against you. Ûndin believes, as do I, that it

  would be best for you to remain behind his walls until we leave."

  Eragon hesitated. He wanted to see more of Celbedeil, but if there was to be trouble, then his place was by Saphira's side. He bowed to Gannel and begged to be excused. "You

  need not apologize, Shadeslayer," said the clan chief. He glared at Arya. "Do what you must, and may the blessings of Gûntera be upon you."

  "I've said it before Nasuada, I am not taking command of Du Vrangr Gata. Trianna will be fine leading them. They are under your orders, not their own."

  "They have a tendency to dismiss my orders though."

  "I don't believe that will be a problem any longer," Mark insisted, stopping at the foot of the stairs a moment. "Trianna asked me to take command and I told her I simply couldn't,

  considering how busy I am. She seemed very eager to listen to what I had to say however, I believe she'll do what you say now. With the Twins in charge before, I think they were more inclined to dismiss your orders."

  Nasuada sighed a little, "Very well. If you feel confident with how they've set up their new leadership, I will allow it and leave them be. We're done for the day, you may go.

  Everyone has been alerted to the move, so the city will probably be very busy."

  Mark smiled at her, "I'm not worried about getting lost, if that's what you're thinking."

  "Well, no." She said, "It's not that."

  "You should rest Nasuada, running yourself into the ground won't do anyone any good."

  She nodded, "You're right. Thank you."

  "I think you forget sometimes you are only human."

  "Perhaps," she admitted, "Good night, Marcus."

  "Good night, Lady Nasauda."

  He watched her leave to go to her quarters before continuing down the steps to the city. As he wandered about, avoiding people best he could his mind fell back onto the subject of

  his sister. The eyes he had seen in his scrying orb had been Mariah's – he was sure of it. Not knowing what the damn thing was used for however, he had no way of knowing if that