The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  Fighting the urge to giggle, he put his foot on her nose and pushed as hard as he dared while Saphira twisted and squirmed in an attempt to free herself.

  It took more than ten minutes before she succeeded. Only then did Eragon see the full extent of the damage to the stairwell. He groaned. Her scales had cut through the bark and

  obliterated the delicate patterns grown out from the wood.

  Oops, said Sahpira.

  At least you did it, not me. The elves might forgive you. They'd sing dwarf love ballads night and day if you asked them to.

  He joined Saphira on her dias and huddled against the flat scales of her belly, listening as the storm roared about them. The wide membrane became translucent whenever lightning

  pulsed in jagged shards of light.

  What time do you think it is?

  Several hours before we must meet Oromis. Go on, sleep and recover. I will keep guard.

  He did just that, despite the tree's churning.

  Mariah stared out her window, singing quietly as Andrar and Thorn gave chase to one another above the court yard. Her hands laced together at her waist twisting her fingers

  unconsciously as words drifted softly from her lips. After letting loose on Hal yesterday, she'd knocked him out; even then she hadn't let up. So, as punishment for nearly killing one

  of his new Riders, Galbatorix confined her to her room. She didn't mind, her window still overlooked the courtyard where her dragon was, making it far less lonely than he had

  intended.

  During training yesterday, Camilla had been so bold as to ask about getting their own dragons after going through so much rigorous preparation. Galbatorix had ignored her

  questioning and left shortly after. The simple thought of Camilla on dragonback was enough to make her shiver.

  Blinking, she realized she'd stopped singing and sighed. "No more daydreaming." Mariah turned and stared at the wall, where she'd placed a target, going over to the table where a

  few spare knives she'd stolen from the kitchen were laid out. Picking one of them up, she weighed it in her hand and spun it between her fingers, focusing on not cutting herself;

  letting the knife hurtle toward the target a moment later, she scowled as it clattered to the ground. She picked up another and flung it toward the wood again, managing to stick the

  knife deep into the grain. Walking over, Mariah placed her fingers at the tip and pulled it out, looking to see how far she'd managed to penetrate it; smiling when it appeared deep

  enough to dig into someone's chest.

  She collected her knives and returned to the table with the intent of practicing some more. When the door handle clicked she twisted and flung the knife across the room, listening

  to the twang of metal as it stuck in the door just a few inches from Murtagh's face.

  "Stealing cutlery from the kitchens now? Getting inventive I see, being locked up all day."

  Mariah blinked at him, "What do you want?"

  "Just came to see how you were faring in confinement." He assured her, grabbing the knife out of the door, "though it appears I've caught you at a bad time, maybe I should come

  back later."

  She stared at him from across the room.

  Murtagh sighed, "Alright. I was a little worried; yesterday with Hal… that was a lot, even for you."

  "You're worried about Hal now?"

  "No, I'm worried about you," he said, stepping in and closing the door. "You didn't sleep last night again did you?"

  "I told you, I don't sleep if I can help it. If you're coming in here to try and convince me otherwise, you can leave now because it's not going to happen."

  Murtagh flopped down onto the couch, kicking his feet up. "Fine. I won't then. Why were you trying to kill him anyway?"

  "I wasn't trying to kill Hal… but I wouldn't have cared if I did." She said, turning back toward the window.

  He sighed and watched her silently.

  "You're staring."

  "I am not." He said, averting his eyes from her as she turned toward him.

  Mariah glared at him, "Why are you still in here? Don't you have something better to do?"

  He shook his head, watching her turn back around toward the window again. "It's my job to bother you."

  "No it's not." She said. "You're not my brother. Brothers bother, that's their job."

  Murtagh blinked. "It's been troubling you again, hasn't it? How this is all going to end up…" He stood, walking over. "Mariah, it's like I said earlier, we'll do what we can, but unless

  we figure out a way to break out of this oath, we're stuck."

  "You don't need to keep repeating yourself, Murtagh." She insisted, folding her arms. "I know all of that already. I don't need a constant reminder from you that I'm stuck in this god

  forsaken place… why are you up here?"

  "Galbatorix wanted to see you." He said finally.

  She stopped breathing, blinking, her heart skipped a beat. "Now?" He nodded, watching as Mariah turned, collecting her thoughts and walked out the door.

  Mark strode down to the headquarters of Du Vrangr Gata the following morning, knocking on the door, telling himself to at least attempt being polite. A young girl opened the door

  and blinked at him. She was clearly a maid from the castle. "Lord Marcus."

  "Good morning," he said, "I wish to speak with Trianna, if she's here."

  "Yes, of course." She curtseyed a little before backing into the room and holding the door for him. The sorceress was already staring his way, trying to bite back her sneer.

  He raised an eyebrow at her, his lips flickering into a haughty smirk. "I've come to discuss the plans Nasuada gave you yesterday."

  "I believe we can manage on our own without your added input."

  "I'm merely advising because I wish to see it is done. There will be no delays I trust?"

  She chewed on her tongue a moment, glancing around the room at the others. "Of course. We will start working on it immediately." A few of them shot looks toward her and

  shuffled their tomes closed. "Is there anything else you wanted to say? I'm sure we would all work much better without your piercing gaze lingering on us."

  "No," he said simply, his eyes darting between their faces. "But do expect me to come back and check on your progress. That's all…" he dismissed himself, walking back out of the

  door the maid held for him. Mark listened to their hushed whispers as the door closed and chuckled quietly in his throat before turning towards Nasuada's quarters.

  He knocked on her door and Farica, Nasuada's maid, opened the door, letting him in.

  "to take you to her."

  "Asked? By whom? And why?"

  Jörmundur spoke quickly, "A boy on the practice field told me that you should visit the child. Said that you would find it interesting. He refused to give me his name, but he looked

  like what that witch's werecat is supposed to turn into, so I thought… Well, I thought you should know." He looked embarrassed. "I asked my men questions about the girl, and I

  heard things… that she's different."

  "In what way?"

  He shrugged. "Enough to believe that you should do what the werecat says."

  "Magic," she said, making it a curse."

  "Magic," agreed Jörmundur, though he used it as a word of awe and fear.

  Mark blinked between them, "I've come at a bad time, considering."

  Nasuada's gaze turned to him, "Quite the contrary, I've need of your advice. Come with me."

  "Of course."

  She turned to her other advisor, "Is she within the castle?"

  "Orrin gave her and her caretaker rooms on the west side of the keep."

  "Take us to her."

  Gathering up her skirts, Nasuada ordered Farica to postpone the rest of the day's appointments, and then left the chambers. Behind her, she heard Jörmundur snap his fingers as he

  directed four guards to take up posit
ions around her. Mark rolled his eyes behind their lids as he stopped in the hall, turning to look at Nasuada. The guards always made him laugh

  – they would be of little help if she were to be attacked. She had scoffed earlier at the word "magic" and all it comes with, but she truly didn't understand the benefits of it,

  considering her one guard that could use it was the most likely to save her life.

  The heat within Borromeo Castle had increased to the point where they felt as if they were trapped within a giant bread oven. The air shimmered like liquid glass along the

  windowsills. Mark glanced at Nasuada a moment only to find she seemed the most comfortable of the group in the heat, despite her heavy dress. The guards and many of the other

  Varden had fainted from heatstroke – two of whom died an hour or two later – due to the high temperatures they simply weren't accustomed to.

  When they finally reached their destination, Jörmundur knocked, and a quavering voice from inside asked, "Who is it?"

  "Lady Nasuada, come to see the child," he said.

  "Be you of true heart and steadfast resolve?"

  This time Nasuada answered, "My heart is pure and my resolve is as iron."

  "Cross the threshold, then, and be welcome."

  The door swung open to an entryway lit by a single red dwarf lantern. No one was at the door. Proceeding inward, Nasuada saw that the walls and ceiling were swathed with layers

  of dark fabric, giving the place the appearance of a cave or lair. To her surprise, the air was quite cold, almost chilly, like a brisk autumn night. Apprehension sank its poisonous

  claws into her belly. Magic.

  A black mesh curtain blocked her way. Brushing it aside, she found herself in what was once a sitting room. The furniture had been removed, except for a line of chairs pushed

  against the shrouded walls. A cluster of fain dwarf lanterns were hung in a dimple of the sagging fabric overhead, casting weird multicolored shadows in every direction.

  Mark blinked, realizing he didn't know why they were here exactly. He glanced at Nasuada, but she was fully focused on the people in front of her. A bent crone watched her from

  the depths of one corner, bracketed by Angela the herbalist and the werecat, who stood with his hackles raised. In the center of the room knelt a pale girl that Nasuada took to be

  three or four years old. The girl picked at a platter of food on her lap. No one spoke.

  "Where is the baby?" Nasuada asked, confused.

  The girl looked up.

  Mark's breath caught in his throat as he saw the dragon mark bright upon the child's brow and as he peered deeper into her violet eyes. The girl quirked her lips with a terrible,

  knowing smile. "I am Elva."

  Nasuada recoiled without thinking, clutching at the dagger she kept strapped to her left forearm. It was an adult's voice and filled with an adult's experience and cynicism. It

  sounded profane coming from the mouth of a child.

  His mind started reeling instantly. He should have mindsearched Eragon when he'd had the chance. He should have made him repeat exactly what he'd said; had Saphira tell him

  exactly what had happened. He should have throttled the boy for doing something so stupid. He should have made sure something like this wasn't going to happen before Eragon

  left. He shouldn't have dismissed it so simply like he had.

  "Don't run," said Elva. "I'm your friend." She put the platter aside, it was empty now. To the crone, she said, "More food." The old woman hurried from the room. Then Elva patted

  the floor beside her. "Please, sit. I have been waiting for you ever since I learned to talk."

  Keeping her grip on her dagger, Nasuada lowered herself to the stones. "When was that?"

  "Last week." She was staring at Mark now expectantly. "You as well."

  He sat down next to Nasuada hesitantly. His eyes moved over Nasuada's body, her ridged form looking strange – he'd never seen her so unnerved before, like she was fighting the

  urge to scream and run from the room.

  Leaning forward, Elva reached out and cupped Nasuada's cheek with one soft hand. "You know, Ajihad could not have led the Varden better than you have. You chose the correct

  path. Your name will be praised for centuries for having the courage and foresight to move the Varden to Surda and attack the Empire when everyone else thought it was insane to

  do so."

  Nasuada gaped at the girl, stunned. Mark watched as tears burst from her eyes and rolled down her face. "What are you?" she demanded, her voice sounding distraught.

  "I am what Eragon made me."

  "He blessed you."

  "No. He did not," Mark said slowly.

  Elva's gaze turned to him, their eyes meeting. No one was able to hold his gaze like that, not even Mariah. Brom may have been able to, but for the past several months, most

  people avoided looking into his eyes. Elva seemed to enjoy it staring into his soul. "He did not understand his actions. Since Eragon ensorcelled me, whenever I see a person, I

  sense all the hurts that beset him and are about to beset him. When I was small, I could do nothing about it. So I grew bigger."

  "Why would" Nasuada started, but it was clear the conversation had turned away from her.

  "The magic in my blood drives me to protect people from pain… no matter the injury to myself or whether I want to help or not." Her smile acquired a bitter twist. "It costs me

  dearly if I resist the urge."

  Mark shook his head slowly. "He misspoke when he placed that blessing upon you. And I fear Saphira's actions only amplified it…"

  Nasuada asked, "Why have you told me this?"

  "I thought that you should know who and what I am." Elva paused, and the fire in her gaze strengthened. "And that I will fight for you however I can. Use me as you would an

  assassin – in hiding, in the dark, and without mercy." She laughed with a high, chilling voice. "You wonder why; I see you do. Because unless this war ends, the sooner rather than

  later, it will drive me insane. I find it hard enough to deal with the agonies of everyday life without also having to confront the atrocities of battle. Use me to end it and I'll ensure

  that your life is as happy as any human has had the privilege to experience."

  At that moment, the crone scurried back into the room, bowed to Elva, and handed her a new platter of food. It was a physical relief to Nasuada as Elva looked down and attacked a

  leg of mutton, cramming the meat into her mouth with both hands. She ate with the ravenous intensity of a gorging wolf, displaying a complete lack of decorum. With her violet

  eyes hidden and her dragon mark covered by black bangs, she once again appeared to be nothing more than an innocent child.

  Nasuada waited until it became apparent that Elva had said all she was going to. Then – at a gesture from Angela – she accompanied the herbalist through a side door, leaving the

  pale girl sitting alone in the center of the dark, clothbound room, like a dire fetus nestled in its womb, waiting for the right moment to emerge. Mark stood to follow; pausing after

  his back was turned.

  Your future is very dark indeed, if you continue down your current path there will be naught but pain and heartache. By aligning yourself to those around you, you are condemning

  yourself to agony which you may not be able to rectify. A very dark day is quickly arriving where you will be forced to make a choice, be prepared to harm one close to you in

  order to keep another safe.

  He hadn't even felt her slip past his mental walls. Steeling himself, he decided it better not to respond and followed after Nasuada, feeling violet eyes boring into his closed the door

  quickly behind him, "All she does is eat and eat. We can't sate her appetite with the current rations. Can you"

  "She'll be fed. You needn't worry about it." Nasuada rubbed her arms.

  "Thank you."


  "Has this ever happened to anyone else?"

  Angela shook her head until her curly hair bounced on her shoulders. "Not in the entire history of magic. I tried to cast her future, but it's a hopeless quagmire – lovely word,

  quagmire – because her life interacts with so many others."

  "Is she dangerous?"

  Mark smirked at her answer, "We're all dangerous."

  "You know what I mean."

  Angela shrugged. "She's more dangerous than some and less than others. The one she's most likely to kill, though, is herself. If she meets someone's who's about to be hurt and

  Eragon's spell catches her unawares, then she'll take the doomed person's place. That's why she says inside most of the time."

  "How far in advance can she foretell events?"

  "Two or three hours at the most."

  Mark blinked, deciding to keep Elva's commentary to himself. It didn't sound like something that was going to happen in a few hours, but he'd been wrong before.

  "I realize," said Nasuada, "that this is presumptuous of me, as you aren't under my command and I know little of your life or duties, but I have a favor to ask of you."

  "Proceed." Angela waved a hand.

  Nasuada faltered, "Would you be willing to keep an eye on Elva for me? I need"

  "Of course! And I'll keep two eyes on her, if I can spare them. I relish the opportunity to study her."

  "You'll have to report to me," warned Nasuada.

  "The poison dart hidden in the raisin tart. Ah, well, I suppose I can manage."

  "I have your word, then?"

  "You have my word."

  Nasuada groaned in relief and sank into a nearby chair. "Oh, what a mess. What a quagmire. As Eragon's liegelord, I'm responsible for his deeds, but I never imagined that he

  would do anything as dreadful as this. It's a blight on my honor as much as his."

  A ripple of sharp pops filled the room as Angela cracked her knuckles. "Yes. I intend to speak to him about it once he returns from Ellesméra."

  Her expression was so fierce, it alarmed Nasuada. "Well don't hurt him. We need him."

  "I won't… permanently."

  Mark chuckled a little at Angela. Then he let out a small sigh, turning to Nasuada. "If anyone should be responsible Nasuada, it's me. I knew about this whole ordeal moments after

  it happened. I was careless; I knew better than to believe Eragon wouldn't have accidentally misspoken when he placed the blessing on Elva. I should have taken it upon myself to