The Black Morass
Page 66
ink and began to transcribe a column of glyphs. Each barbed line was like a streak of night against the paper, an abyss into which he could lose himself and try to forget his
confused feelings.
Mariah's head reeled. Forsworn. Her parents were Forsworn. She blinked and leaned back against the wall for support, slipping down to the floor as her knees gave out. Looking
down, she saw her trembling hands, still battered from the fight with Kieran. Her heart beat and she felt it, blood rushing through her veins. Tainted. It felt like poison rushing up
through her chest into every fiber of her being. Tears rushed to her eyes, dripping onto her hands. "You're lying."
His eyes flashed dangerously. "Why would I lie to you?"
"You want there to be a stronger reason that this happened… that I'm here… "
"But it's all true, oh, so very true." Galbatorix smiled down at her, "You are the prize of the century. A third generation Dragon Rider in the flesh, your power can't possibly be matched don't you see it? Can't you feel it? You were meant to come to me, this is your destiny."
Destiny? She fought with the word for several moments, holding onto her arms, hugging herself. This was not the destiny she had wanted, this tainted blood. Everything she had
known up until now was a lie. She had been proud of her lineage, her Dragon Rider ancestry through Brom, not through her suddenly Forsworn parentage. Her upbringing as a
commoner from Carvahall had already been marred away upon finding out about her grandfather, but this was different. It stabbed at the heart of her identity. "My destiny…"
"Yes, child! Don't you understand? My Forsworn has been rebuilt reunited through blood! The sons and daughters of my slain soldiers have risen to fulfill what they could not!" He
grinned broadly at her, watching her work through her revelation.
She finally blinked. Mark. That was why he wanted Mark so badly. To know about him, what he could do, and who he was. "You wanted us to lead your army because of who our
parents were."
"Because of who your parents are," he insisted. "My finest soldiers… spawned another generation of what is to be the ultimate conquest. Finally, I shall have the entirety of
Alagaësia at my command. The elves will fall. The resistance will fall. And all of them shall be destroyed by the fire and blood of my Forsworn." Mariah pushed herself back up,
leaning against the wall, feeling small in front of him. He strode around the room a moment before glancing back at her. "I trust, with this newfound history, you will be ready to
take charge alongside Kieran and Murtagh?"
She swallowed hard for a moment, staring down at her hands. What if this was what she had been meant for? All this time, she had been raised in secret, away from these hidden
truths. Resurrecting the Dragon Riders was no small feat but it could be done, with enough strength it was possible, she could see herself alongside the others, even leading. She
looked up into Galbatorix's face, his eyes gleaming with passionate visions of what could be. Mariah nodded, "I know I am."
"Excellent," he said. "That is the glorious news I wanted to share with you. Make sure you keep the others in line, General."
When he had finished, the muscles in his hand cramping fiercely, he looked up at Oromis who was reading silently. He bit his lip, trying to gather the courage to speak. "Master?"
"Mmm… yes, Eragon?"
"May I... make a request?"
Oromis raised his gaze to meet Eragon's eyes, "That would depend on the request."
He set the quill down beside his last page, rubbing his sore hand. Eragon hesitated again. "Would it be alright, for me to take a blank piece of slate with me? Even a small one.
Possibly?"
One of the elf's eyebrows rose slightly, piqued with curiosity. "You must realize I am inclined to ask what for."
"To practice," he said simply. Eragon swallowed and looked at his hands, hoping Oromis wouldn't inquire further.
He studied the boy for a moment before nodding, "I will allow it. Remember however once you have created a fairth there is no changing it." Oromis stood and found a small piece
of slate, just bigger than his hand, and walked it back to Eragon, handing it to him gently.
Eragon took the slate carefully and held it between his fingers, remembering how the last one had shattered so thoroughly. "I shall. Are we… done for today?"
"Yes. I believe so. Tomorrow we will continue." Oromis said his goodbyes and watched Eragon leave the clearing, and head back towards Ellesméra.
Eragon walked back through the depths of Du Weldenvarden, looking over the blank slate in his hands. He sighed and glanced upward at the canopy of trees, increasing his stride
when he felt Saphira's presence grow stronger. She purred upon seeing him and pressed her nose against his arm in greeting. He smiled and stroked the scales on her nose.
I did warn you, she said, turning her gaze upon him. I feared she might grow upset.
He nodded gravely, I wish now I would have heeded your warning a little more. Either way, I think I know how I'm going to apologize to Arya. Saphira looked over the tablet in his
hand and asked her silent question. No. That would be a terrible idea; you and I both know that. She rumbled with a laugh in agreement, watching as he crawled onto his bed,
sitting crosslegged and staring at the slate. Eragon closed his eyes tightly, scrunching his facial features as he did so, focusing. He muttered in Elvish quietly, holding his breath as
he opened his eyes again, his heart skipping half a beat.
A pair of green eyes stared back, piercing through him. Eragon ran his fingertips over the slate, heaving a sigh. "You'll keep me focused from now on… won't you?" Her hair was
flung back from the wind rushing past her. The broad smile across her face forced tears to his eyes, welling and dripping down his cheek. The morning sunlight cast a silver gleam
on her black hair as she held on tightly to the saddle of her dragon. Proud of the image he had created, he gently set it down next to the head of his bed, laying down and staring at
the slate until he fell asleep.
The following morn, Eragon went looking for Arya in order to apologize. He searched for over an hour without success. It seemed as if she had vanished among the many hidden
nooks within Ellesméra. He caught a glimpse of her once as he paused by the entrance to Tialdarí Hall and called out to her, but she slipped away before he could reach her side.
She's avoiding me, he finally realized.
As the days rolled by, Eragon embraced Oromis's training with a zeal that the elder Rider praised, devoting himself to his studies in order to distract himself from the thoughts of
Arya. In turn, he allowed himself the reminder of Mariah every night before he went to sleep, and every morning when he woke.
The constant reminder of her permeated his dreams. Her breath, her footsteps, and the soft rustle of her clothes sounding like spring leaves and the morning breeze. It felt like
warm embers and soft fingers feathering across his hand, his cheek, slipping away after a fleeting moment. Glimpses of her face every night, flashes of memories: some that
would startle him awake, dripping with sweat and writing in pain, and others that kept him in high spirits long into the following afternoon.
Night and day, Eragon strove to master his lessons. He memorized the words of making, binding, and summoning; learned the true names of plants and animals; and studied the
perils of transmutation, how to call upon the wind and the sea, and the myriad skills needed to understand the forces of the world. At spells that dealt with greater energies – such
as light, heat, and magnetism – he excelled, for he possessed the talent to judge nigh exactly how much strength a task required and whether it would exceed that of his body.
Occasionally, Orik would come and watch, standing withou
t comment by the edge of the clearing while Oromis tutored Eragon, or while Eragon struggled alone with a particularly
difficult spell.
Oromis set many challenges before him. He had Eragon cook meals with magic, in order to teach him finer control of his gramarye; Eragon first attempt resulted in a blackened mess. The elf showed Eragon how to detect and neutralize poisons of every sort and, from then on, Eragon had to inspect his food for the different venoms Oromis was liable to slip
into it. More than once Eragon went hungry when he could not find the poison or was unable to counteract it. Twice he became so sick, Oromis had to heal him. And Oromis had
Eragon cast multiple spells simultaneously, which required tremendous concentration to keep the spells directed at their intended targets and prevent them from shifting among the
items Eragon wanted to affect.
Oromis devoted long hours to the craft of imbuing matter with energy, either to be released at a later time or to give an object certain attributes. He said, "This is how Rhunön
charmed the Riders' swords so they never break or dull; how we sing plants into growing as we desire; how a trap might be set in a box, only to be triggered when the box is
opened; how we and the dwarves make the Erisdar, our lanterns; and how you may heal one who is injured, to name a few uses. These are the most potent of spells, for they can
lie dormant for a thousand years or more and are difficult to perceive or avert. They permeate much of Alagaësia, shaping the land and the destiny of those who live here."
Eragon asked, "You could use this technique to alter your body, couldn't you? Or is that too dangerous?"
Oromis's lips quirked in a faint smile. "Alas, you have stumbled upon elves' greatest weakness: our vanity. We love beauty in all its forms, and we seek to represent that ideal in
our appearance. That is why we are known as the Fair Folk. Every elf looks exactly as he or she wishes to. When elves learn the spells for growing and molding living things, they
often choose to modify their appearance to better reflect their personalities. A few elves have gone beyond mere aesthetic changes and altered their anatomy to adapt to various
environments, as you will see during the Bloodoath Celebration. Oftentimes, they are more animal than elf."
"However, transferring power to a living creature is different from transferring power to an inanimate object. Very few materials are suitable for storing energy; most either allow
it to dissipate or become so charged with force that when you touch the object, a bolt of lightning drives through you. The best materials we have found for this purpose are
gemstones. Quarts, agates, and other lesser stones are not as efficient as, say, a diamond, but any gem will suffice. That is why Riders' swords always have a jewel set in their
pommels. It is also why your dwarf necklace – which is entirely metal – must sap your strength to fuel its spell, since it can hold no energy of its own."
Kendra didn't speak much during their journey to the edge of Surda. It wasn't that Mark minded the silence, he very much appreciated it, able to hear the clip of Aluora's hooves and
nothing much else. His title and position had been spread across the country since his aiding Nasuada first started, and in turn his head had become a highprofile target, for
common bandits and the finest assassins the Empire could buy.
On the first night of their trip, he asked where they were headed. The place she had chosen for their new outpost was just north of Cithrí, where a shot of land pushed into the
Empire's territory, making them just a peninsula of resistance. When it came to her plans, Kendra threw caution to the wind, allowing the best ideas to win out over any and all
downfalls that presented themselves. He believed that she truly would sacrifice herself entirely if it would result in the king's death.
Mark's back started to ache as they rode, but after nearly two full days at a full gallop they were to arrive in Cithrí just before day break. They stopped to purchase a few supplies
before they continued on. Walking their horses through the city center, Mark's eyes darted across faces and storefronts. Feeling unfamiliar, he heightened his awareness of the
surrounding area, tensed for a fight with every step.
She glanced his way, chuckling under her breath. "Relax." Nyx sniffed around at her feet, dodging between people as they ran errands in the morning light.
"If only I could."
"Honestly, we can kill anyone that poses even a minor threat. Let's just get what we need and go." After tying Lynette to a post outside of a shop, she stepped inside, brushing away
a gaggle of bells that rang loudly at her entrance.
"A very early good morning to you!" The shop keeper was a wirey balding man, his thumbs tucked into his waistcoat as he greeted her. "What can I help you with this morning
lass?"
Kendra looked around with sharp eyes as Mark appeared at her side quietly. There was a large gemstone hanging off of a necklace, just waiting to be charmed. "Is that a real
diamond?"
"Why of course, see for yourself!" He trotted over and scurried upon a stool to reach the high hanging necklace. Turning, the man displayed it between his long fingers, dangling the
trinket before her eyes. Quietly, Mark muttered a spell to authenticate it, waiting for the gem to glow if fake. The surface shimmered in the morning light, but remained unaffected.
"How much would you need to part with it?" He asked, setting a hand on Kendra's shoulder.
"Oh dear, no less than three hundred crowns I would think. That's a very large stone of such high quality. Travelers rarely carry that on them however, so we can make a bargain,
if you have something of value?"
Mark smiled, reaching to his belt, pulling out a piece of solid gold, minted by the dwarves. "Ten of these in exchange for your necklace. Would we have a deal?"
"The markings are exquisite." He reached out, observing the coin, weighing it in his palm for a moment. Narrowing his eyes up at Mark, he finally nodded. "Certainly."
At his word, Mark pulled a handful of the coins from his pouch, laying them out on the top of the counter. "Nine more, as agreed."
The shopkeeper placed the necklace into Kendra's outstretched hand, collecting his coins and moving to hide them in a small chest below the counter. When he stood up again fully,
they were both gone.
"Is that all we're going to need?" She asked, tucking the gem into her corset against her breast.
Mark pulled himself up into Aluora's saddle, nodding. "I just needed something strong enough to hold up the spells that I'm going to put on your new hideout." Spurring his shehorse
she trotted out of town as Mark pulled his hood up over his head, the others right behind her tail.
When not with Oromis, Eragon supplemented his education by reading the many scrolls the elf gave him, a habit he soon became addicted to. Eragon's rearing – limited as it was by
Garrow's scant tutelage – had exposed him only to the knowledge needed to run a farm. The information he discovered on the miles of paper flooded into him like rain on parched
desert, sating a previously unknown thirst. He devoured texts on geography, biology, anatomy, philosophy, and mathematics, as well as memoirs, biographies, and histories. More
important than the mere facts was his introduction to alternative ways of thinking. They challenged his beliefs and forced him to reexamine his assumptions about everything from
the rights of an individual within society to what caused the sun to move across the sky.
He noticed that a number of scrolls concerned Urgals and their culture. Eragon read them and made no mention, of it nor did Oromis broach the topic.
From his studies, Eragon learned much about the elves, a subject that he avidly pursued, hoping that it would help him better understand Arya. To his surprise, he discovered that
considered by the elves to be the ultimate vow of love.
Eragon also learned that since their two races had first met, only a handful of elfhuman couples had existed: mainly human Riders who found appropriate mates among the elves.
However, as best he could tell from the cryptic records, most such relationships ended in tragedy, either because the lovers were unable to relate to one another or because the
humans aged and died while the elves escaped the ravages of time.
In addition to nonfiction, Oromis presented Eragon with copies of the elves' greatest songs, poems, and epics, which captured Eragon's imagination, for the only stories he was
familiar with were the ones Brom had recited in Carvahall. He savored the epics as he might a wellcooked meal, lingering over The Deed of Gëda or The Lay of Umhodan
prolong his enjoyment of the tales.
Saphira's own training proceeded apace. Linked as he was to her mind, Eragon got to watch as Glaedr put her through an exercise regimen every bit as strenuous as his. She
practiced hovering in the air while lifting boulders, as well as sprints, dives, and other acrobatics. To increase her endurance, Glaedr had her breathe fire for hours upon a natural
stone pillar in an attempt to melt it. At first Saphira could only maintain the flames for a few minutes at a time, but before long the blistering torch roared from her maw for over a
half hour uninterrupted, heating the pillar whitehot. Eragon was also privy to the dragon lore Glaedr imparted to Saphira, details about the dragons' lives and history that
complemented her instinctual knowledge. Much of it was incomprehensible to Eragon, and he suspected that Saphira concealed even more from him, secrets of her race that
dragons shared with no one but themselves. One thing he did glean, and that Saphira treasured, was the name of her sire, Iormúngr, and her dam, Vervada, which meant Stormcleaver
in the old speech. While Iormúngr had been bound to a Rider, Vervada was a wild dragon who had laid many eggs but entrusted only one to the Riders: Saphira. Both