The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  once in a while."

  "I'll keep it in mind Angela." He said, taking his leave.

  He looked out one of the round windows that faced the edge of the cliff and allowed the afternoon warmth to suffuse the room. He watched Saphria, noting how she acted with

  Glaedr, seeming both shy and coy. One moment she would twist around to examine some feature of the clearing, the next she would shuffle her wings and make small advances on

  the larger dragon, weaving her head from side to side, the tip of her tail twitching as if she were about to pounce on a deer. She reminded Eragon of a kitten trying to bait an old

  tomcat into playing with her, only Glaedr remained impassive throughout her machinations.

  Saphria, he said. She responded with a distracted flicker of her thoughts, barely acknowledging him. Saphira, answer me.

  What?

  I know you're excited, but don't make a fool of yourself.

  You've made a fool of yourself plenty of times, she snapped.

  Her reply was so unexpected, it stunned him. It was the sort of casually cruelly remark that humans often make, but that he had never thought to hear from her. He finally managed to say, That doesn't make it any better. She grunted and closed her mind to his, although he could still feel the thread of her emotions connecting them.

  Eragon returned to himself to find Oromis's gray eyes heavy upon him. The elf's gaze was so perceptive, Eragon was sure that Oromis understood what had transpired. Eragon

  forced a smile and motioned towards Saphira. "Even though we're linked, I can never predict what she's going to do. The more I learn about her, the more I realize how different

  we are."

  Then Oromis made his first statement that Eragon thought was truly wise: "Those whom we love are often the most alien to us." The elf paused. "She is every young, as are you. I t

  took Glaedr and I decades before we fully understood each other. A Rider's bond with his dragon is like any relationship – that is, a work in progress. Do you trust her?"

  "With my life."

  "And does she trust you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then humor her. You were brought up as an orphan. She was brought up to believe that she was one of the two last sane individuals of her race. And now that the other one is

  gone, she believed herself to be the only one left. And now, here she is, proven wrong. Don't be surprised if it takes some months before she stops pestering Glaedr and returns her

  attention to her."

  Eragon rolled a blueberry between his thumb and forefinger; his appetite had vanished. "Why don't elves eat meat?"

  "Why should we?" Oromis held up a strawberry and rotated it so that the light reflected off its dimpled skin and illuminated the tiny hairs that bearded the fruit. "Everything that we

  need or want we sing from the plants, including our food. It would be barbaric to make animals suffer that we might have additional courses on the table… Our choice will make

  greater sense to you before long."

  Eragon frowned. He had always eaten meat and did not look forward to living solely on fruit and vegetables while in Ellesmera. "Don't you miss the taste?"

  "You cannot miss that which you have never had."

  "What about Glaedr, though? He can't live off grass."

  "No, but neither does he needlessly inflict pain. We each do the best we can with what we are given. You cannot help who or what you are born as."

  "And Islanzadi? Her cape was made of swan feathers."

  "Loose feathers gathered over the course of many years. No birds were killed to make her garment."

  They finished the meal, and Eragon helped Oromis to scour the dishes clean with sand. As the elf stacked them in the cupboard, the asked, "Did you bathe this morning?" The

  question startled Eragon, but he answered that no, he had not. "Please do so tomorrow then, and every day following."

  "Every day! The water's too cold for that. I'll catch the ague."

  Oromis eyed him oddly. "Then make it warmer."

  Now it was Eragon's turn to look askance. "I'm not strong enough to heat an entire stream with magic," he protested.

  The house echoed as Oromis laughed. Outside, Glaedr swung his head toward the window and inspected the elf, then returned to his earlier position. I assume that you explored

  your quarters last night." Eragon nodded. "And you saw a small room with a depression in the floor?"

  "I thought that it might be for washing clothes or linens."

  "It is for washing you. Two nozzles are concealed in the side of the wall above the hollow. Open them and you can bathe in water of any temperature. Also," he gestured at Eragon's

  chin, "while you are my student, I expect you to keep yourself cleanshaven until you can grow a full beard – if you so choose – and not look like a tree with half its leaves blown

  off. Elves do not shave, but I will have a razor and a mirror found and sent to you."

  Wincing at the blow to his pride, Eragon agreed. They returned outside, whereupon Oromis looked at Glaedr and the dragon said, We have decided upon a curriculum for Saphira

  and you.

  The elf said, "You will start"

  an hour after sunrise tomorrow, in the time of theRed Lily. Return here then.

  "And bring the saddle that Brom made for you Saphira," continued Oromis. "Do what you wish in the meantime; Ellesmera holds many wonders for a foreigner, if you care to see

  them."

  "I'll keep that in mind," said Eragon, bowing his head. "Before I go, Master, I want to thank you for helping me in Tronjheim after I killed Durza. I doubt that I would have survived

  without your assistance. I am in your debt."

  We are both in your debt, added Saphira.

  Oromis smiled slightly and inclined his head.

  "I've decided to send you three out on a mission for me."

  Mariah blinked, turning her gaze upward toward Galbatorix as he spoke. She certainly hadn't been expecting this. After being called from her room early in the morning, before the

  sun had even risen, she had expected a scolding or some sort of punishment from the day prior. This, however, had been the last thing on her mind.

  "Now that Thorn is able to fly with a Rider on his back, I am sure the three of you can take on this task easily enough. There is an item I wish for you to retrieve for me in the

  north, toward Gil'ead. I don't trust anyone less than a Rider to find it for me. A Rider's blade lies somewhere in the ruins of a fortress. When its owner fell, the sword disappeared in

  the rubble and I have yet to find it. While you are gone there will be no use of magic that is unduly needed." Galbatorix looked towards Mariah, then he turned his head, looking out

  the window. "You leave immediately and you have three days to return with the blade. Else you will all be severely punished." His eyes lingered on Kieran for a moment and she

  locked her jaw under his gaze. "Go."

  Murtagh led the way out of the room ahead of them.

  He's letting us leave, Mariah realized, her eyes widening. She turned her gaze toward Murtagh's back for a moment. We could escape. Instead of going north, head south toward

  Surda… or east toward the desert. We could escape.

  My darling, aren't you forgetting something? Andrar asked, thrashing his tail a bit as they walked outside. His eyes looked her face over as her joy drained away. You are still bound

  by oaths that cannot be broken.

  Mariah climbed onto his back and sighed inwardly.

  I doubt Kieran would have let you leave her sight anyway. It's probably for the best right now, let's just return with the sword and save our deceptions for a better day.

  insisted, looking toward Thorn as he struggled for a moment against the wind before soaring after Nasreen.

  Murtagh looked over at her and smiled. This is the first time we've really gotten to fly like this. It's exhilarating. I realize now why you lo
ve it so much. The idea that you're

  invulnerable seems like a possibility when you're up this high.

  She nodded, pushing her hair out of her face. Just wait until you're more comfortable with it, you can do all sorts of things when you fly once you know how to move.

  like showing off she stood up on Andrar's back smoothly, with little effort on her part, aware of the wind and how hard she had to brace against it. The movement of the dragon

  beneath her didn't hinder her movement or make her cautious, just more aware. She smirked over at him and spun in a circle before bowing and sitting back in her saddle. Andrar

  snorted smoke from his nose, chuckling at her.

  Her gaze flickered back over to Murtagh who seemed about ready to have a heart attack. His jaw was slack and he was staring. How did you do that? I can barely sit still in this

  saddle; I can't even imagine standing up!

  Practice, she insisted. Also, the ability to trust that your dragon won't throw you off, make any sudden moves or will indefinitely catch you if you by chance happen to fall. I happen

  to know that Andrar will catch me no matter what and that his flight isn't going to change much in the few seconds I'm standing.

  Andrar glanced back at her, it helps that Rider's blood runs in your veins as well Mariah.

  I don't think that has anything to do with it, Mark can't stand to be on a dragon. She blinked, looking at Andrar. Mark. I could scry him… we're out of the castle. I could scry him!

  Yes, and right after Galbatorix explicitly told you not to use magic. He will know if you attempted to scry your brother Mariah, and then what? You'll be hurt or something worse…

  you know that's what would happen… you just can't. Andrar said, feeling sympathy for her all the same.

  Hope you enjoyed both parts. It was long and tedious, I know, but I do hope you enjoyed all the new names and faces, some familiar, some perhaps not so. I think nearly every major character was in these two chapters at least once, so that's a feat in itself.

  Again, hope everyone had a fun, safe holiday, got everything they wished for and is enjoying writing the wrong date on all their papers now that the year has changed on us again.

  I wish everyone the best for the upcoming year. New Year's Resolution for me? Finishing Eldest and in turn A Rider's Heart. We're nearly halfway there... though it will seem longer,

  now that I've been brooding over the ending... yet again.

  The moment that Oromis and Glaedr were out of sight, Saphira said, Eragon, another dragon! Can you believe it?

  He patted her shoulder. It's wonderful. High above Du Weldenvarden, the only sign of habitation in the forest was an occasional ghostly plume of smoke that rose from the crown of

  a tree and soon faded into clear air.

  As Saphira rambled on and on about Glaedr, Eragon could feel the emotions roiling in her: eagerness and enthusiasm, twined with longing adoration. He tried to tell her what he had

  learned from Oromis – since he knew that she had not paid attention – but he found it impossible to change the subject of conversation. He sat silently on her back, the world an

  emerald ocean below, and felt himself the loneliest man in existence.

  Back at their quarters, Eragon decided against any sightseeing; he was far too tired from the day's events and the weeks of traveling. And Saphira was more than content to sit on

  her bed and chatter about Glaedr while he examined the mysteries of the elves' wash closet.

  Morning came, and with it a package wrapped in onionskin paper containing the razor and mirror that Oromis had promised. The blade was of elvish make, so it needed no

  sharpening or stropping. Grimacing, Eragon first bathed in steaming hot water, then held up the mirror and confronted his visage.

  I look older. Older and worn. Not only that, but his features had become far more angled, giving him an ascetic, hawklike appearance. He was no elf, but neither would anyone take

  him to be a purebred human if they inspected him closely. Pulling back his hair, he bared his ears, which now tapered to slight points, more evidence of how his bond with Saphira

  had changed him. He touched one ear, letting his fingers wander over the unfamiliar shape.

  It was difficult for him to accept the transformation of his flesh. Even though he had known it would occur – and occasionally welcomed the prospect as the last confirmation that he

  was a Rider – the reality of it filled him with confusion. He resented the fact that he had no say in how his body was being altered, yet at the same time he was curious where the

  process would take him. Also, he was aware that he was still in the midst of his own, human adolescence, and its attendant realm of mysteries and difficulties.

  When will I finally know who and what I am?

  He placed the edge of the razor against his cheek, as he had seen Garrow do, and dragged it across his skin. The hair came free, but they were cut long and ragged. He altered the

  angle of the blade and tried again with a bit more success.

  When he reached his chin, though, the razor slipped in his hand and cut him from the corner of his mouth to the undersize of his jaw. He howled and dropped the razor, clapping his

  hand over the incision, which poured blood down his neck. Spitting the words past barred teeth, he said, "Waise heill." The pain quickly receded as magic knitted his flesh back

  together, though his heart still pounded from the shock.

  Eragon! cried Saphira. She forced her head and shoulders into the vestibule and nosed open the door to the closet, glaring her nostrils at the scent of blood.

  I'll live, he assured her.

  She eyed the sanguine water. Be more careful. I'd rather you were as ragged as a molting deer than have you decapitate yourself for the sake of a close shave.

  So would I. Go on. I'm fine.

  Saphira grunted and reluctantly withdrew.

  Eragon sat, glaring at the razor. Finally, he muttered, "Forget this." Composing himself, he reviewed his store of words from the ancient language, selected those that he needed,

  and then allowed his invented spell to roll off his tongue. A faint stream of black powder fell from his face as his stubble crumbled into dust, leaving his cheeks perfectly smooth.

  Satisfied, Eragon went and saddled Saphira, who immediately took to the air, aiming their course toward the Crags of Tel'naeir. They landed before the hut and were met by Oromis

  and Glaedr.

  Oromis examined Saphira's saddle. He traced each strap with his fingers, pausing on the stitching and buckled, and then pronounced it passable handiwork considering how and

  when it had been constructed. "Brom was always clever with his hands. Use this saddle when you must travel with great speed. But when comfort is allowed" He stepped into his

  hut for a moment and reappeared carrying a thick, molded saddle decorated with gilt designs along the seat and leg pieces. "use this. It was crafted in Vroengard and imbued with many spells so that it will never fail you in time of need."

  Eragon staggered under the weight of the saddle as he received it from Oromis. It had the same general shape as Brom's, with a row of buckles – intended to immobilize his legs –

  hanging from each side. The deep seat was sculpted out of the leather in such a way that he could fly for hours with ease, both sitting upright and lying flat against Saphira's neck.

  Also, the straps encircling Saphira's chest were rigged with slips and knots so that they could extend to accommodate years of growth. A series of broad ties on either side of the

  head of the saddle caught Eragon's attention. He asked their purpose.

  Glaedr rumbled, Those secure your wrists and arms so that you are not killed like a rat shaken to death when Saphira performs a complex maneuver.

  Oromis helped Eragon relieve Saphira of her current saddle. "Saphira, you will go with Glaedr today, and I will work with Eragon here."

  As you wis
h, she said, and crowed with excitement. Heaving his golden bulk off the ground, Glaedr soared off to the north, Saphira close behind.

  Oromis did not give Eragon long to ponder Saphira's departure; the elf marched him to a square of hardpacked dirt beneath a willow tree at the far side of the clearing. Standing

  opposite him in the square, Oromis said, "What I am about to show you is called the Rimgar, or the Dance of Snake and Crane. It is a series of poses that we developed to prepare

  our warriors for combat, although all elves use it now to maintain their health and fitness. The Rimgar consists of four levels, each more difficult than the last. We will start with the

  first."

  Apprehension for the coming ordeal sickened Eragon to the point where he could barely move. He clenched his fists and hunched his shoulders, his scar tugging at the skin of his

  back as he glared between his feet.

  "Relax," advised Oromis. Eragon jerked open his hands and let them hang limply at the end of his rigid arms. "I asked you to relax, Eragon. You can't do the Rimgar if you are as

  stiff as a piece of rawhide."

  "Yes, Master." Eragon grimaced and reluctantly loosened his muscles and joints, although a knot of tension remained coiled in his belly.

  "Place your feet together and your arms at your sides. Look straight ahead. Now take a deep breath and lift your arms over your head so that your palms meet… Yes, like that.

  Exhale and bend down as far as you can, put your palms on the ground, take another breath… and jump back. Good. Breathe in and bend up, looking toward the sky… and exhale,

  lifting your hips until you form a triangle. Breathe in through the back of your throat… and out. In… and out. In…"

  To Eragon's utter relief, the stances proved gentle enough to hold without igniting the pain in his back, yet challenging enough that sweat beaded his forehead and he panted for

  breath. He found himself grinning with joy at his reprieve. His wariness evaporated and he flowed through the postures – most of which far exceeded his flexibility – with more

  energy and confidence than he had possessed since before the battle in Farthen Dûr. Maybe I've healed!