The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  Eragon's face grew haggard. He walked with a shuffle, his movements slow and careful as he tried to preserve his strength. It became hard for him to think clearly or to pay

  attention to Oromis's lessons, and gaps began to appear in his memory that he could not account for. In his spare time, he took up Orik's puzzle ring again, preferring to

  concentration upon the baffling interlocked rings rather than his condition. When she was with him, Saphira insisted that he ride upon her back and did everything that she could to make him comfortable and to save him effort.

  One morning, as he clung to a spike on her neck, Eragon said, I have a new name for pain.

  What's that?

  The Obliterator. Because when you're in pain, nothing else can exist. Not thought. Not emotion. Only the drive to escape the pain. When it's strong enough, the Obliterator strips us

  of everything that makes us who we are, until we're reduced to creatures less than animals, creatures with a single desire and goal: escape.

  A good name, then.

  I'm falling apart, Saphira, like an old horse that's plowed too many fields. Keep hold of me with your mind, or I may drift apart and forget who I am.

  I will never let go of you.

  Soon afterward, Eragon fell victim to three bouts of agony while fighting Vanir and then two more during the Rimgar. As he uncurled from the clenched ball he had rolled into,

  Oromis said, "Again, Eragon. You must perfect your balance."

  Eragon shook his head and growled in an undertone, "No." He crossed his arms to hide his tremors.

  "What?"

  "No."

  "Get up, Eragon, and try again."

  "No! Do the pose yourself; I won't."

  Oromis knelt beside Eragon and placed a cool hand on his cheek. Holding it there, he gazed at Eragon with such kindness, Eragon understood the depths of the elf's compassion for

  him, and that, if it were possible, Oromis would willingly assume Eragon's pain to relieve his suffering. "Don't abandon hope," said Oromis. "Never that." A measure of strength

  seemed to flow from him to Eragon. "We are the Riders. We stand between the light and the dark, and keep the balance between the two. Ignorance, fear, hate: these are our

  enemies. Deny them with all your might, Eragon, or we will surely fail." He extended a hand towards Eragon. "Now rise, Shadeslayer, and prove you can conquer the instincts of

  your flesh!"

  Eragon took a deep breath and pushed himself upright on one arm, wincing from the effort. He got his feet underneath himself, paused for a moment, then straightened to his full

  height and looked Oromis in the eye.

  The elf nodded with approval.

  Eragon remained silent until they finished the Rimgar and went to bathe in the stream, whereupon he said, "Master."

  "Yes, Eragon?"

  "Why must I endure this torture? You could use magic to give me the skills I need, to shape my body as you do the trees and plants."

  "I could, but if I did, you would not understand how you got the body you had, your own abilities, nor how to maintain them. No shortcuts exist for the path you walk, Eragon."

  Cold water rushed over the length of Eragon's body as he lowered himself into the stream. He ducked his head under the surface, holding a rock so that he would not float away,

  and lay stretched out along the streambed, feeling like an arrow flying through the water.

  That night, as he drifted away from his back pain and body aches, Eragon let his responsibilities fade as well. He was able to stretch, fight, run, climb, and jump, without his back

  ever so much as pulsing. Only here did he still feel truly unbroken.

  He rushed through the forest of the Spine, whether chasing or fleeing he didn't know, dodging past trees with astounding speed. Rounding a bend, he leapt across the stream before

  the rushing of water faded from his hearing once more. He skidded to a halt only when he was about to crash into her. She whirled around and smiled at him, looking him up and

  down once.

  "Running from something?"

  Eragon ran his tongue over his lips. It was the first time she actually talked to him like this, usually it was just memories. "I think… running to you."

  "You can't."

  "Here I can." He insisted, watching as she reached out for him, putting her hand against his cheek gently. Eragon closed his eyes as her warm fingers graced his skin. "I miss you."

  Mariah smiled, dropping her hand and wrapping her arms around his waist, lacing her fingers together. She felt warm against him and he pulled her close, rubbing her back slowly,

  able to smell lilacs when he pressed his cheek against her hair. "How are you?"

  He pulled back slightly, looking at her, still holding her around her waist. "I'd rather not talk about it."

  "Your back… it still hurts."

  Eragon nodded. "But not here."

  "That's… good." She danced her fingers along his back, tracing where the scar would be. "I hope you are able to overcome the damage that Durza caused."

  "I would do it again to save you." Her fingers stopped and she blinked up at him. "I would endure anything for that."

  She shook her head. "I would rather you be able to move as you used to than to suffer for me."

  "You shouldn't say such things." He scolded, tapping her nose. "I would do anything, brave anything to have you back." Mariah watched his face, his expression, bright and serious.

  He laughed and stepped back, spinning her around once. "But I'll settle for this… as long as you come back to me tomorrow night, and every one after." She hummed and nodded,

  resting her head against his shoulder.

  When he woke, pain instantly settled once more into his spine. He clenched and unclenched his hands, staring up at the ceiling in anger before turning his head to look at the fairth

  beside his bed. Eragon let out a sigh and forced himself to stand, convincing his body that every painful movement was worth doing.

  Unable to sleep, Mariah prowled through the castle. Having memorized its twists and turns, she walked in darkness without fear of becoming lost inside the maze of Urû'baen. The

  new moon had taken all light from the halls and left naught but shadow.

  Approaching a window she jumped and stood in the frame, looking out at the courtyard below. Andrar was curled up nearby Nasreen, though they were nowhere near touching.

  Thorn was nestled up against the side of the castle wall just below her feet. Mariah blinked and pushed through the opening, dropping until her fingers caught a brick protruding

  slightly from the wall, climbing down and landing beside Thorn.

  He opened one eye at her landing and closed it again, humming quietly to her. She patted his nose before moving to Andrar, walking around his tail until she found his head. The

  dragon shifted ever so slightly, muscles rippling beneath scales, the scratch of his claws like crackling timber from a falling pine. It is late, is it not?

  Mariah nodded, crawling over his paw and under his neck, scratching at his scales beneath his chin. You know I am unable to sleep.

  Yes. Andrar purred with delight. As it is for many who are troubled.

  Do you think me wrong?

  He lowered his snout, nuzzling at her. Mariah wrapped her arms around his jaw tightly, feeling warmth emanating from every scale. I think you are trying to find a place for

  yourself. And you do not yet know where you belong. That you are of two homes, broken though they may be, your heart lies with neither.

  I know where I belong.

  We both do. He closed his eyes and let out a warm sigh. The sudden rush of hot air pushed her hair back rapidly, frizzing it. Would you like to remain here tonight?

  She nodded, curling up with him, lying on his forearm as she watched the stars far above. I miss Mark.

  Yes darling, as do I.

  She rubbed her eyes on the back of her arm and heaved
a sigh. He would know what to do. He always does… and he would know how to break these oaths I've sworn, and the

  others'. He always hated them. I wish I knew if he was alright.

  He is probably grieving for you. If he believes you lost.

  I hope he knows well enough that a Dragon cannot be so easily slain.

  Andrar rumbled with amusement. That he should know, and if he does not, I will be sure to teach him the next time we meet.

  She looked up at his scales and smiled gently. Yes, be sure to do that. Mariah watched as his scales started to shimmer and looked up as the darkness of night started to fade. She

  stood and climbed up onto his back, holding on to his neck spikes as he shifted to stand. Stretching, Andrar yawned and pushed off from the ground, beating his wings and flying up

  around the castle. He hovered and dropped his tail, allowing Mariah to slide down gracefully, leaving her atop the roof of one of the towers as he went to hunt down breakfast.

  Leaning against the stone, she watched the morning rising over the mountains far in the east. Quietly, she hummed until the lyrics slipped from between her lips. Mariah hugged

  herself as she sang, every syllable helping sooth her heart. The words were from one of the books she had taken from the library, having had plenty of time the past few sleepless

  nights to memorize pages upon pages of poetry and song. She had never been on a ship, only seen them while in Terim, but the song brought back memories of the salty wind and

  vast ocean nestled behind the mountains in the distance.

  There's a hush and stillness calm and deep,

  For the waves have wooed all the winds to sleep

  In the shadow of headlands bold and steep;

  But some gracious spirit has taken the cup

  Of the crystal sky and filled it up

  With rosy wine, and in it afar

  Has dissolved the pearl of the morning star.

  The girdling hills with the nightmist cold

  In purple raiment are hooded and stoled

  And smit on the brows with fire and gold;

  And in the distance the wide, white sea

  Is a thing of glamor and wizardry,

  With its wild heart lulled to a passing rest,

  And the sunrise cradled upon its breast.

  With the first red sunlight on mast and spar

  A ship is sailing beyond the bar,

  Bound to a land that is fair and far;

  And those who wait and those who go

  Are brave and hopeful, for well they know

  Fortune and favor the ship shall win

  That crosses the bar when the dawn comes in.Murtagh avoided Hal and Innes, both of them now standing taller with their dragons perched on their shoulders. They would stride down the center of the halls, drawing attention to

  themselves, talking loudly. Camilla was still the clear frontrunner when it came to attention. She paraded around with her lilac dragoness like it was a piece of fine jewelry that

  would make a queen jealous. The dragoness had been named after a plant, though unlike a rose, Belladonna was deadly poisonous.

  Hal's dragon had simply told him his name: Deíron. The creature was muddy brown and stocky, his name in Elvish having a rough translation of the word "strong". If Hal had

  disagreed at all, he feigned it well. After Innes informed him of the name's meaning, he seemed more than thrilled at the idea.

  At the sight of Innes's dragon, Murtagh was unsure of what to say. She was thin; her sickly yellowgreen scales were smooth and pointed. The spikes along her neck were finer than

  a needle's point, and her eyes were nearly black against her pale face. Shruiken was the only other dragon Murtagh knew that didn't have eyes the same color as its scales. She

  looked at him once and he turned away, quick to avoid her piercing gaze. The dragon and Rider had agreed upon Ecaeris, which was a name he had read once that she had taken a

  liking to.

  "Have you seen her? She's horrific to look at." Murtagh nodded toward Camilla and Innes arguing with one another, their dragonesses hissing at each other while they spoke.

  "I don't think she's actually a dragon." Kieran muttered, glancing towards Innes across the room. "I think that is a snake with wings." She sipped at her wine glass and turned her

  gaze back to Murtagh. "You have been unusually alone as of late."

  He scowled at her. "My business is none of yours."

  "On the contrary," she said, raising her eyebrow. "I see you every day, if you're moping about something I'm going to find out. Best just to tell me now."

  He sighed. "Kieran…"

  "Did something happen? I'd like to know before you two go at it again." Earlier in the morning, while sparring, Mariah and Murtagh had both snapped on one another. Though he had

  seemed to pull his punches, they both drew blood and had to be broken apart by Kieran; the bruise on her shoulder still burned.

  Murtagh shifted his weight, looking at the floor. "I stopped it where it was, before anything more could come of it. She is distracted because of all of this, it's not like her."

  "What do you mean?"

  "She isn't herself right now. I'll not take advantage of it."

  "So," she leaned closer. "Are you trying to tell me you're… available?"

  He pushed her shoulder, giving her a stern look before walking off as Galbatorix waved for him. Kieran sighed and watched him leave, taking another long draught of her wine

  before turning to the others, waiting for Mariah to come downstairs for dinner.

  "Yes?" Murtagh asked, catching stride with the king.

  Galbatorix patted his shoulder, walking him outside to the castle grounds. "All in good time Murtagh." He pushed the doors open with a word in Elvish and proceeded into the setting

  sunlight. They walked for several minutes in absolute silence, setting his nerves aflame. "Do you recall the last time I spoke with you?"

  "Yes. About Eragon being my brother."

  "Indeed, and have you give this much thought?"

  "Of course." Murtagh glanced towards him for half a moment. "What of it?"

  "I was just curious. Have you told the others?" At this Galbatorix's steps slowed to a stop, turning Murtagh towards him.

  "I… mentioned it to Mariah."

  "Ah, and she was… upset?" Murtagh nodded once. "I trust this isn't going to cause confrontation... it would be such a shame for my generals to be arguing amongst each other. I do

  recall saying something about your little," he waved his hand in a circle, searching for the word, "…relationship not becoming a problem."

  Murtagh paused. "It is not. She was upset because what she believed to be true was not. It is a difficult thing for her to realize she has been told false truths, nothing more. If this

  is in regards to our argument this morning, it was for other… personal reasons. I assure you that it won't happen again."

  "Oh by all means, it was a wonderful fight. I only hope that she behaves while you are gone." He continued their walk through the grounds. "Don't worry; she shall remain in one

  piece as long as you return within the week."

  The blood rushed from his face as he saw Thorn saddled and ready to go. I am sorry I did not say something sooner, I was… distracted. Murtagh made his way over to his dragon,

  running a hand along his neck, watching as some of the guards loaded large gemstones into extra bags buckled to the saddle.

  "What are those?"

  "The hearts of four dragons, to make sure you return to me. If you are caught they hold more energy and power than you would normally wield. Draw from it, and you will be

  unstoppable."

  Murtagh turned back to look at Galbatorix. "Why not send someone else?"

  "I need Kieran here to train the others… and the Dawnsinger is being difficult lately, you said so yourself. I thought it best to keep her here until she is of a better mindset. Besi
des,

  you are my right hand, are you not? My strongest Rider is surely capable of a simple scouting mission." Galbatorix motioned for him to get on the dragon.

  Thorn lowered his head, watching the king slightly as Murtagh pulled himself up into the saddle, tightening the harness a little until he felt secure. "What do you need me to do…?"

  "Concentrate, Eragon," said Oromis, though not unkindly.

  Eragon blinked and rubbed his eyes in an attempt to focus on the glyphs that decorated the curling parchment paper before him. "Sorry, Master." Weariness dragged upon him like

  lead weights tied to his limbs. He squinted at the curved and spiked glyphs, raised his goosefeather quill, and began to copy them again.

  Through the window behind Oromis, the green shelf on top of the Crags of Tel'naeir was streaked with shadows from the descending sun. Beyond, feathery clouds banded the sky.

  Eragon's hand jerked as a line of pain shot up his leg, and he broke the nib of the quill and sprayed ink across the paper, ruining it. Across from him, Oromis also started, clutching

  his right arm.

  Saphira! cried Eragon. He reached for her with his mind and, to his bewilderment, was deflected by impenetrable barriers that she had erected around herself. He could barely feel

  her. It was as if he were trying to grasp an orb of polished granite coated with oil. She kept clipping away from him.

  He looked at Oromis. "Something's happened to the, hasn't it?"

  "I know not. Glaedr returns, but he refuses to talk to me." Taking his blade, Naegling, from the wall, Oromis strode outside and stood upon the edge of the crags, head uplifted as

  he waited for the gold dragon to appear.

  Eragon joined him, thinking of everything – probable and improbable – that might have befallen Saphira. The two dragons had left at noon, flying north to a place called the Stone of

  Broken Eggs, where the wild dragons had nested in ages past. It was an easy trip. It couldn't be Urgals; the elves don't allow them into Du Weldenvarden, he told himself.

  At last Glaedr came into view high above as a winking speck among the darkening clouds. As he descended to land, Eragon saw a wound on the back of the dragon's right foreleg, a