The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  carried her back.

  Now, she was stuck cowering under her dragon's wing, trying not to get attacked by the daughter of Galabtorix. Upon this realization, Mariah blinked and lifted Andrar's wing,

  looking over at Kieran. She was sitting up, leaning against Nasreen's side, nodding off. It doesn't matter what she does to me. This is my home and I'm going to enjoy being here while I have the chance. Mariah slipped away from Andrar and stretched out on her back, sinking into the grass and staring up at the stars.

  After leaving Tarnag and the wonderful temple at its top, Eragon, Arya and Orik boarded a large raft to traverse the river while Saphira swam along beside them. The dwarvish

  guards that accompanied them were led by a bearded dwarf named Thorv from Tarnag. They spent long days shrouded by the mountains' shadows, though it was faster and easier

  than traveling on land.

  "Then tell me this at least," Eragon said, several days into their journey, scratching his chin and cheeks, feeling the patches of stubble that had begun to appear. "If you won't teach me any magic, what does the name of my sword mean?"

  Arya's voice was very soft. "Misery is your sword. And so it was until you wielded it."

  Eragon stared with aversion at Zar'roc. The more he learned about his weapon, the more malevolent it seemed, as if the blade could cause misfortune of its own free will.

  did Morzan kill Riders with it, but Zar'roc's very name is evil. If Brom had not given it to him, and if not for the fact that Zar'roc never dulled and could not be broken, Eragon would

  have thrown it into the river at that very moment.

  As the day grew darker, he decided to fly a while with Saphira before the sun set. They swirled around in the mountain air, chasing after birds and Fanghur creatures native to the

  Dwarvish mountain ranges. Before they could get into trouble with the dragonlike creatures, Saphira dove back down, splashing into the water.

  After eating, Eragon retired to his tent. The fire provided enough light that he could see the silhouette of Saphira nestled alongside the tent, like a figure cut from black paper and

  pasted against the canvas wall.

  Eragon sat with the blankets pulled over his legs and stared at his lap, drowsy but unwilling to sleep quite yet. Unbidden, his mind turned to thoughts of home. He wondered how

  Roran, Horst and everyone else from Carvahall was doing, and if the weather in Palancar Valley was warm enough for the farmers to start planting their crops. Longing and sadness

  suddenly gripped Eragon.

  He removed a wood bowl from his pack and, taking his waterskin, filled it to the brim with liquid. Then he focused on an image of Roran and whispered, "Draumr kópa."

  As always, the water went black before brightening to reveal the object being scryed. Eragon saw Roran sitting along in a candlelit bedroom he recognized from Horst's house.

  Roran must have given up his job in Therinsford, realized Eragon. His cousin leaned on his knees and clasped his hands, staring at the far wall with an expression that Eragon knew meant Roran was grappling with some difficult problem. Still, Roran seemed well enough, if a bit drawn, which comforted Eragon. After a minute, he released the magic, ending the

  spell and clearing the surface of the water.

  Reassured, Eragon emptied the bowl, then lay down, pulling the blankets up to his chin. He closed his eyes and sank into the warm dusk that separates consciousness and sleep,

  where reality bends and sways to the wind of thought, and where creativity blossoms in its freedom from boundaries and all things are possible.

  The first time he woke, Eragon touched his face, catching a teardrop and rubbing it away. He'd been trying not to think about it, focusing his mind on traveling with Arya and Orik,

  but the concern about Carvahall and his cousin had led his subconscious to what was really troubling him. It's… it's just not fair she had to die. She should be right here, next to me,

  traveling at my side to Ellesméra. He bit his lip, shivering a bit and curled back up, dragging his blanket over his head to try and get her face out of his mind. All the while she was

  screaming his name to help her while he stood there frozen, completely useless.

  Then, in the morning, right before he woke, he had a vision as clear as if he would have been awake.

  He saw a tortured sky, black and crimson with smoke. Crows and eagles swirled high above flights of arrows that arched from one side to another of a great battle. A man sprawled

  in the clotted mud with a dented helm and bloody mail – his face concealed behind and up thrown arm.

  An armored hand entered Eragon's view. The gauntlet was so near it blotted out half the world with polished steel. Like an inexorable machine, the thumb and last three fingers

  curled into a fist, leaving the trunk of the index finger to point at the downed man with all the authority of fate itself.

  Mariah was startled out of her sleep when Kieran gripped her by the collar, screaming, "They're gone! What the hell did you do, you stupid little brat? You let them get away – you

  warned them!" Her lips were curled up into a snarl, "I should never have let you go alone." Kieran threw her back on the ground, "Get up, now."

  She scrambled to her feet, wiping the spit off her face with the back of her hand, biting her tongue to stop herself from saying anything to further upset the older girl.

  "On your damn dragon," the princess insisted, climbing up on her steed. Nasreen let out a low grown, razor teeth flashing in her giant maw. When Mariah didn't move fast enough

  for Kieran's liking, the dragoness lurched forward and bit towards her. Andrar twisted around her quickly, Nasreen's teeth clamping around his tail. She let go and pulled back,

  turning toward Carvahall.

  Get on my back my darling, he said, lowering his head, Before they decide to harm you further. Mariah did as he said, climbing up into her saddle. Turning around a bit, she stared

  at Andrar's tail, gushing blood from fistsized wounds.

  Kieran twisted around, glaring at her, "You are going to fly down and torch the entire village, understood? I'll be right behind you, watching. If you don't do it, I'm going to kill you –

  I don't even care what father has to say about it either. You will not make a fool out of me girl. Now do it!"

  Andrar lurched into the air before she had a say in what he was going to do. It was his job to keep her out of trouble now that she'd reached Kieran's limit. His tail was dripping with

  blood and it was painful to fly, however this was what needed to be done.

  He flapped his wings heavily in the air, hovering a hundred feet above the village. Mariah stared at his redorange scales as Andrar inhaled. A bursting jet stream of flames erupted

  from his jaws. When his breath died back out he flew around and started breathing fire up and down the thatchedroof houses until everything was aflame. When he'd finished, he

  returned to Kieran and Nasreen.

  The princess stared at Mariah, "Good. We're going back to Urû'baen now, I suggest you stay close by." Nasreen turned to fly south, leaving Andrar to follow.

  Don't look now Mariah, but I fear we won't be alone in our journey back. Andrar told her, staying behind Nasreen's tail. His Rider glanced downward, not seeing anything.

  What do you mean?

  Behind you.

  She twisted in her saddled, a chill running down her skin as she saw two dragonlike figures flapping behind them like oversized bats. The Ra'zac.

  The valley widened throughout the morning as the rafts swept toward a bright gap between two mountains. They reached the opening at midday and found themselves looking out

  of shadow upon n a sunny prairie that faded into the north.

  Then the current pushed hem beyond the frosted crags and the walls of the world dropped away to reveal a gigantic sky and flat horizon. Almost immediately, the air grew warmer.

  The Az Ragni curved to the east, ed
ging the foothills of the mountain range on one side and the plains on the other.

  The amount of open space seemed o unsettle the dwarves. They muttered among themselves and glanced longingly at the cavernous rift behind them.

  Eragon found the sunlight invigorating. It was hard to ever really feel awake when threequarters of the day was spent in twilight. Behind his raft, Saphira launched herself out of

  the water and flew up over the prairie until she dwindled to a winking speck in the azure dome above.

  That evening, Thorv chose a small cove for their camp. While one of the dwarves fixed dinner, Eragon cleared a space beside his tent, then drew Zar'roc and settled into the ready

  stance Brom had taught him when they first sparred. Eragon knew he was at a disadvantage compared to the elves, and he had no intention of arriving in Ellesméra out of practice.

  With excruciating slowness, he looped Zar'roc over his head and brought it back down with both hands, as if to cleave an enemy's helm. He held the pose for a second. Keeping his motion under complete control, he pivoted to the right – twisting Zar'roc's point to parry an imaginary blow – then stopped with rigid arms.

  Out of the corner of his eye, Eragon noticed Orik, Arya and Thorv watching. He ignored them and focused only on the ruby blade in his hands; he held it as if it were a snake that

  could writhe out of this grip and bite his arm.

  Turning again, he commenced a series of forms, flowing from one to another with disciplined ease as he gradually increased his speed. In his mind, he was no longer in the

  shadowy cove, but surrounded by a knot of ferocious Urgals and Kull. He ducked and slashed, parried, riposed, jumped to the side, and stabbed in a whirl of activity. He fought with mindless energy, as he had in Farthen Dur, with no thought for the safety of his own flesh, dashing and tearing aside his imagined enemies.

  He spun Zar'roc around – in an attempt to flip the hilt from one palm to another – then dropped the sword as a jagged line of pain bisected his back. He staggered and fell. Above

  him, he could hear Arya and the dwarves babbling, but all he saw was a constellation of sparkling red haze, like a bloody veil dropped over the world. No sensation existed other

  than pain. It blotted out thought and reason, leaving only a feral animal that screamed for release.

  As soon as Mariah's feet touched the ground, there was a blade to her throat. Kieran gripped a fistful of her shirt and snarled in her face, "No one makes a mockery out of me, Mariah, no one. Especially not you. I don't give a damn if you're some stupid peasant girl or a goddess, you do not disobey my direct orders. You let them all escape and I will not

  soon forget it." The knife pressed deeper into her throat, cutting through her skin, drawing blood to the surface. "Every single one of those people were supposed to die – Roran was

  supposed to come with us or die on my blade. Now I wish I would have just killed them all myself." Kieran spat.

  She took a step back and turned to walk away when Mariah lurched toward her, slamming her fist into the woman's face. "Nnngah!" The cut on her throat sizzled with pain as she

  spoke, "You do not get to decide who lives and dies – you aren't in charge of peoples' lives!"

  "Though as a Rider I am the law." Kieran said, standing back up and rubbing her face, pushing blood away from her nose.

  "You don't get to make the rules!" Mariah shouted at her, shaking with rage.

  She smirked and flicked a knife into her hand, "Yes. I do – I can do whatever I want. If I say they die, they die. And I get to do it all myself. If Galbatorix ever perishes, I get to

  claim the throne. When I'm queen I'll have unlimited, complete control over the entire continent. Don't you understand? I own you and everyone else. No one tells me what to do."

  Kieran's eyes flashed, "And if they try – I kill them. Do you want to die?"

  "I want you to die. And I'm going to do it myself, right now." Mariah said, drawing her sword.

  Mariah – you're going to get hurt! Andrar insisted, roaring at her. She'll kill you! He started towards her, intending to break her away from Kieran, but Nasreen leaped atop him,

  pinning him down with her body and clamping her jaws around his throat, keeping enough pressure on it to make sure he knew she would snap it without hesitation.

  She lunged toward the princess, slashing at her wildly, trying to hit her anywhere she could. Kieran's reflexes were better, through training and her longer period as a Rider,

  effectively dodging all her attacks.

  "My turn," she snarled, ducking in and stabbing her in the hip. Her knife dragged downward, tearing a gash in Mariah's left hip from her waist down nearly ten inches. When she

  pulled back, the knife stuck in her flesh. Kieran immediately drew her Rider's blade.

  Mariah gasped a bit, falling onto her knee and staring at the dagger. This fight would have happened whether she initiated it or not, it had been coming – building since they first met. Her eyes flicked back up to Kieran. Whoever wins this… it's going to change everything. She took hold of the knife and pulled it out, tossing it aside before lunging toward the

  princess, ignoring the gushing blood.

  Kieran lifted Eirian to block the sword and dug her heels into the ground. When Mariah's blade struck it, she tumbled forward, listening to an awful shattering noise – something

  she'd never heard before. She hit the ground and coughed, staring at the shards of her former sword. Before she could process how Kieran had managed to break it, the woman had

  a boot on her throat, stepping down harshly.

  "You know," she said. "You really are stupid…" Kieran dragged her sword along Mariah's arm, drawing a gash into it, then another beside it, and another. She bit her tongue, trying

  to block the pain, but it felt like hot fire burning her veins.

  Once she'd repeated the process with her other arm and both her legs, all the while keeping just enough pressure on her throat to keep her down, but let her breathe, Kieran

  stabbed the blade downward through her right thigh, effectively pinning her to the ground. The princess knelt next to her, raising an eyebrow. Mariah stared back through hazy

  vision. There wasn't a scratch on her. How had she managed to evade all her attacks?

  "You're stupid, but not worthless," Kieran observed. "Much like my sister was. You don't give up easily and you are stubborn. You are blinded by your rage and let your feelings get

  in the way of your head – which is the worst thing anyone can do. Emotions are what kill people." She placed a hand on Mariah's cheek, pushing her hair back gently. "Since I have

  realized you are not so worthless, as I initially thought, I think I'm going to keep you around some." Kieran dragged her fingers down Mairah's torso, to her leg. "But know this girl,"

  she leaned in closer to her face so she could hear her, "If you start disobeying me, I won't be so lenient again. Know that I can and will kill you." She jammed her thumb into the

  ten inch dagger wound, causing Mariah to seize slightly. "You promise me that you'll behave and I'll let you live. Deal?"

  Before she could respond, Mariah's vision flickered and faded. Her face was pale with blood loss and her clothes, drenched. They were still a few hours from the capital, but her

  wounds weren't fatal, if bandaged properly. Kieran sighed a little, annoyed.

  "Fine then," she stood and looked at Nasreen. "Release him." She did so, slipping around behind Kieran fluidly. "Stay away from her, dragon, while I bandage her wounds." Andrar

  growled at her, receiving a snarl from Nasreen in turn, but stayed away.

  Kieran retrieved some wrappings from Nasreen's saddlebags and started twisting them around Mariah's wounds, pulling Eirian back out of her thigh, wiping it clean of blood. She

  stood and stretched, climbing onto her dragoness' back. "We're flying the rest of the way to the castle; you can carry her now but be careful not to rip open any of her
wounds."

  Andrar growled slightly, picking his Rider up in his talons and soaring after them.

  When Eragon recovered enough to notice his whereabouts, he found that he had been placed inside his tent and wrapped tightly with blankets. Arya sat beside him, while Saphira's

  head stuck through the entrance flaps.

  Was I out long? asked Eragon.

  A while. You slept a little at the end. I tried to drew you from your body into mind and shield you from the pain, but I could do little with you unconscious.

  Eragon nodded and closed his eyes. His entire body throbbed. Taking a deep breath, he looked up at Arya and quietly asked, "How can I train?... How can I fight, or use magic?... I

  am a broken vessel." His face felt heavy with age as he spoke.

  She answered just as softly: "You can sit and watch. You can listen. You can read. And you can learn."

  Despite her words, he heard a hitch of uncertainty, even fear, in her voice. He rolled onto his side to avoid meeting her eyes. It shamed him to appear so helpless before her. "How

  did the Shade do this to me?"

  "I have no answers, Eragon. I am neither the wisest nor the strongest elf. We all do our best, and you cannot be blamed for it. Perhaps time will heal your wound." Arya pressed

  her fingers to his brow and murmured, "Sé mor'ranr ono finna," then left the tent.

  Eragon sat and winced as his cramped back muscles stretched. He stared at his hands without seeing them. I wonder if Murtagh's scar ever pained him like mine does.

  I don't know," said Saphira.

  A dead silence followed. Then: I'm afraid.

  Why?

  Because… He hesitated. Because nothing I do will prevent another attack. I don't know when or where it will happen, but I do know that it's inevitable. So I wait, and every moment

  I fear that if I lift something too heavy or stretch in the wrong way, the paint will return. My own body has become the enemy.

  Saphira hummed deep in her throat. I have no answers either. Life is both pain and pleasure. If this is the price you must pay for the hours you enjoy, is it too much?