The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  times, would not be enough. The muscle had to be knitted back together.

  The spell Eragon used was long and complex, and even he did not understand all its parts, for he had memorized it from an ancient text that offered little explanation beyond the

  statement that, given no bones were broken and the internal organs were whole, "this charm will heal any ailment of violent origins, excepting that of grim death." Once he uttered

  it, Eragon watched with fascination as Saphira's muscle writhed beneath his hand – veins, nerves, and fibers weaving together – and became whole once more. The wound was big

  enough that, in his weakened state, he dared not heal it with just the energy from his body, so he drew upon Saphira's strength as well.

  It itches, said Saphira when he finished.

  Eragon sighed and leaned his back against the rough basalt, looking at the sunset through his eyelashes. I fear that you will have to carry me off this rock. I'm too tired to move.

  With a dry rustle, she twisted in place and laid her head on the bones beside him. I have treated you poorly ever since we came to Ellesméra. I ignored your advice when I should

  have listened. I scolded you for your own advances toward Arya, despite your hesitant feelings. You warned me about Glaedr, but I was too proud to see the truth in your words… I

  have failed to be a good companion for you, betrayed what it means to be a dragon, and tarnished the honor of the Riders.

  No, never that, he said vehemently. Saphira, you haven't failed your duty. You may have made a mistake, but it was an honest one. I committed the same not long ago.

  That does not excuse my behavior toward you.

  He tried to meet her eye, but she avoided his gaze until he touched her upon the neck and said, Saphira, family members forgive one another, even if they don't always understand why someone acts in a certain way… You are as much my family as Roran – more. Nothing you can do will ever change that. Nothing. When she did not respond, he reached behind

  her jaw and tickled the patch of leathery skin below one of her ears. Do you hear me, eh? Nothing!

  She coughed low in her throat with reluctant amusement, then arched her neck and lifted her head to escape his dancing fingers. How can I face Glaedr again? He was in a terrible

  rage… The entire stone shook with the force of his anger.

  At least you held your own when he attacked you.

  It was the other way around.

  Caught by surprise, Eragon raised his eyebrows. Well, in any case, the only thing to do is apologize.

  Apologize!

  Aye. As I did with Arya. Go tell him that you are sorry, that this won't happen again, and that you want to continue your training with him. I'm sure he will be sympathetic if you

  give him the chance. He knows in part what you have gone through; he too has thought he was the last for a very long time.

  Very well, she said in a low voice.

  You'll feel better once you do. He grinned. I know from experience.

  She grunted and padded to the edge of the cave, where she crouched and surveyed the rolling forest. We should go. Soon it will be dark. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself

  upright – every movementcosting him effort – and climbed onto her back, taking twice the time he usually did. Eragon?... Thank you for coming. I know what you risked with your

  back.

  He patted her on the shoulder. Are we one again?

  We are one.

  Mark sighed, hearing them behind him all moving together. He stepped over a puddle of mud and glanced backwards. The gaggle of children was slowly growing as he made his

  rounds for the day, meeting with people at Nasuada's request.

  He walked up the steps to another noble's house and knocked, preparing himself for the next conversation. A maid arrived at the door and immediately tried to hide her blush. "Lord

  Marcus. What brings you to our door?"

  "I have need to meet with Lord Ekhardt, at request of Lady Nasuada."

  "Yes, yes, of course. Allow me to fetch him for you. Please come in and make yourself comfortable. Can I get anything for you?"

  "No, thank you. I'm quite busy today."

  She curtsied and whisked off. Mark walked past a window and saw the children gathered outside, playing some sort of game in the street. They parted for the carts and horses

  when they passed by but not much else. He sat down in a chair near the door and waited quietly for the fifth meeting.

  Lord Ekhardt came down the stairs and smile brightly at him. "Good afternoon my lord."

  "Yes, it is afternoon." Mark said, biting his tongue and shaking his hand. They moved to a study, whereupon he sat and listened to the lord ramble on about his properties and the

  payments he was to be receiving for them.

  After a few minutes, he took a breath. Mark took advantage of the pause. "Ah, yes. I believe you will find that your payments for your land leases will be arriving consistently now.

  The Varden has found a new source of income and merely has to get their gold flowing."

  The lord coughed loudly. "May I ask what this new income source is?"

  "Lace."

  "I beg your pardon."

  Mark met his gaze sternly, repeating the syllable. "Lace." It was clear in his tone he wasn't to be questioned again.

  "I don't see how lace will be able to pay for land. It's hardly a highly sought commodity. My wife only buys the finest lace. I doubt that your Varden can support all their people with

  just my wife's frivolous purchases."

  "I assure you there will no longer be a problem. Now, I really must be going." He stood and removed a pouch from his waist, dropping it heavily on the desk. "That should suffice

  until you receive your payment from your land leasers. Have a good afternoon, Lord Ekhardt."

  Mark saw himself out, noting the maid trying to catch his eye as he made for the door. He ignored her and pushed out into the heavy afternoon air, muttering a silent spell so he

  wouldn't be dripping with sweat just walking down the street.

  The moment he set foot back on the muddy ground, the children reformed their stalking gaggle, following him like chicks to a hen. He sighed and paused, glancing behind him

  again. Some ran and hid, others stopped in their tracks, unable to think of anything better to do.

  As he made his way through Aberon for the day, they followed. There were still ten of them when he approached the gate to the castle. An audible groan erupted from behind him

  as the guard opened the door for him and he slipped inside.

  "You do realize that you have much fame throughout the city now…" Nasuada said, watching as he entered. "And the children all must look up to you."

  "They look at me the same way that they look at you, and I disagree with their reasoning. They don't know who I am."

  "Ah, but they know who you appear to be, as they know who I appear to be. It does not matter if they fully understand. We are here to free them from the control of the Empire,

  and we are to them whatever they need. Soldiers see us as leaders. Children see us as heroes. Others see us as martyrs, rulers, executioners… we have many facets." Nasuada

  walked with him through the castle to the wing that Orrin had marked off for her and the other leaders of the Varden.

  Mark sighed, "It does not mean for them to follow me through the streets every day."

  "As I said before… knight in shining armor. Whether you like it or not." She paused with him outside his door. "Do not punish the children by scaring them away. They are our

  future, and we want them to grow up strong and with faith that we will triumph. You are a beacon of hope in an otherwise dark time. If you had not been prepared for that, you

  should not have sworn false fealty to me in Farthen Dûr."

  He watched Nasuada leave him and leaned against the door to his room, unbinding the magic lock before barricading hi
mself inside for the remainder of the day, mulling over his

  thoughts.

  When the sun crested the mountains, breaking apart the purple from the sky, a shiver ran down her spine causing her singing to falter, she turned expecting to see Galbatorix

  standing behind her. The door to the stairwell was still closed. Mariah looked down the side of the tower and watched Kieran and the others filing into the courtyard below. After a moment, she turned and pushed open the door, heading down for another day of training.

  "King Galbatorix even let me pick the color." Camila twirled around, a tiny dragon twisted daintily around her neck. The dragoness had scales of frosted lilac, her tiny claws

  scratched at her snout before she blinked at all the people crowded around her new Rider. Innes went to examine her and received a sharp snap when his fingers got too close. He

  retreated quickly, muttering under his breath as he healed the wounds from her razor sharp teeth.

  "Is she going to let anyone else touch her?" Cederic asked, raising an eyebrow at his sister.

  "Nope, she's all mine." The woman smirked at him. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have training to do." She pushed past Pearce and Hal, who exchanged disgusted glances between

  themselves.

  "She's going to be ten times worse than she was before." Hal muttered under his breath, following after her once she rounded the corner.

  Pearce shook his head, glancing at Innes when he spoke. "Camilla thinks she's special now, but just wait until I get my hands on one of those dragons. I'd like to see her dragon bite me then. Even Kieran will be scared of me once I have one."

  "Until then," she smirked, pressing a hand to her hip, smiling at him maniacally. "You're getting whipped again. Now move it."

  Mariah passed through the entryway into the courtyard and raised an eyebrow at them all. "You heard her." Her sword sheath clattered against her thigh as she walked, every step

  echoing against the stone wall behind her. The boys scattered to ready themselves for another fight while Odette went to investigate the tiny dragon.

  "Did you name her yet?" She asked gently, holding out two fingers. The shedragon sniffed her and purred, allowing Odette to run her fingers down her neck.

  "I was thinking Rose, you know, since Murtagh's dragon's name is Thorn…" She smiled brightly, batting her eyelashes as he walked through the doors. At his name, he looked her

  way. Camilla swallowed and dropped her gaze, holding her breath. His glare shifted from her to Mariah.

  At his silent urging, Mariah went to him, following Murtagh around the corner of the courtyard that led to the archery range. He said nothing as she strode behind him. With a huff, Mariah reached out and grabbed his arm. "What?"

  "You never told me."

  "Told you what."

  "Her name."

  She growled slightly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

  "Eragon's mother. What was her name?"

  "…her name?" Mariah paused, watching his face. "…Selena."

  His expression twisted as he fell against a wall, holding his face and laughing. "Of course. The cruel irony of it all."

  "I don't know what you're talking about. Why does that matter? His mother's name is Selena."

  "My mother's name is Selena."

  "Weird coincidence. What's your point?" She folded her arms and raised an eyebrow at him.

  Murtagh returned his gaze to her. He stood up straight and watched her for a moment. "Galbatorix summoned me just after daybreak… I assumed at first it was because you were

  gallivanting around outside all night, but no. That wasn't it." He paused and looked at the ground for a moment. "When he and the Twins searched my memory they discovered

  something important… you're going to be so pleased, I think."

  "Stop being so cryptic," she snapped.

  "Eragon is my brother."

  The days Eragon spent in Ellesméra blended together without distinction; time seemed to have no hold in the pinewood city. The season aged not, even as the afternoons and

  evenings lengthened, barring the forest with rich shadows. Flowers of all months bloomed at the urging of the elves' magic, nourished by the enchantments spun through the air.

  Eragon came to love Ellesméra with its beauty and its quiet, the graceful buildings that flowed out of the trees, the haunting songs that echoed at twilight, the works of art hidden

  within the mysterious dwellings, and the introspection of the elves themselves, which they mixed with outbursts of merriment.

  The wild animals of Du Weldenvarden had no fear of hunters. Often Eragon would look from his eyrie to see an elf petting a stag or a gray fox or murmuring to a shy bear that

  trundled along the edge of a clearing, reluctant to expose himself. Some animals had no recognizable form. They appeared at night, moving and grunting in the bushes and fleeing if

  Eragon dared approach. Once he glimpsed a creature like a furred snake and once a whiterobed woman whose body wavered and disappeared to reveal a grinning shewolf in her

  place.

  Eragon and Saphira continued to explore Ellesméra when they had the chance. They went alone or with Orik, for Arya no longer accompanied them, nor had Eragon spoken to her

  since she broke his fairth. He saw her now and then, flitting between the trees, but whenever he approached intending to apologize – she withdrew, leaving him alone among the

  ancient pines. At last Eragon realized that he had to take the initiative if he were to ever have a chance of mending his relationship with her. So one evening, he picked a bouquet

  from the flowers along the path by his tree and hobbled to Tialdarí Hall, where he asked directions to Arya's quarters from an elf in the common room. The screen door was open

  when he reached her chambers. No one answered when he knocked. He stepped inside, listening for approaching footsteps as he glanced around the spacious vinecovered living

  room, which opened to a small bedroom on one side and a study on the other. Two fairths decorated the walls: a portrait of a stern, proud elf with silver hair, who Eragon guessed

  was King Evandar, and that of a younger male elf whom he did not recognize.

  Eragon wandered through the apartment, looking but not touching, savoring his glimpse into Arya's life, gleaning what he could about her interests and hobbies. By her bed, he saw

  a glass sphere with a preserved blossom of the black morning glory embedded within it; on her desk, neat rows of scrolls with titles like Osilon: Harvest Report and Activity Noted

  by Gil'ead Watchtower; on the sill of an open bay window, three miniature trees grown in the shape of glyphs from the ancient language, the glyphs for peace, strength, wisdom; and by the trees, a scrap of paper with an unfinished poem, covered with crossedout words and scribbled marks. It read:

  Under the moon, the bright white moon,

  Lies a pool, a flat silver pool,

  Among the brakes and brambles,

  And blackheart pines.

  Falls a stone, a living stone,

  Cracks the moon, the bright white moon,

  Among the brakes and brambles,

  And blackheart pines.

  Shards of light, swords of light,

  Ripple 'cross the pool,

  The quiet mere, the still tarn,

  The lonely lake there.

  In the night, the dark and heavy night,

  Flutter shadows, confused shadows,

  Where once…

  Going to the small table by the entrance, Eragon laid his bouquet upon it and turned to leave. He froze as he saw Arya standing in the doorway. She looked startled by his presence,

  then concealed her emotions behind an impassive expression.

  They stared at each other in silence.

  He lifted the bouquet, half offering it to her. "I don't know how to make a blossom for you, like Faolin did, but these are honest flowers and the best I could find."

  "I cannot acce
pt them, Eragon."

  "They're not… they're not that sort of gift." He paused. "It's no excuse, but I didn't realize beforehand that my fairth would put you in such a difficult situation. For that, I'm sorry,

  and I cry your pardon… I was just trying to make a fairth, not cause trouble. I understand the importance of my studies, Arya, and you needn't fear I will neglect them in order to moon after you." He swayed and leaned against the wall, too dizzy to remain on his feet without support. "That's all."

  She regarded him for a long moment, then slowly reached out and took the bouquet, which she held beneath her nose. Her eyes never left his. "They are honest flowers," she

  conceded. Her gaze flickered down to his feet and back up again. "Have you been ill?"

  "No. My back."

  "I had heard, but I did not think…"

  He pushed himself away from the wall. "I should go."

  "Wait." Arya hesitated, then guided him to the bay window, where he sat on the padded bench that curved from the wall. Removing two goblets from a cupboard, Arya crumbled

  dried nettle leaves into them, then filled the goblets with water and –saying "Boil" – heated the water for tea.

  She gave a goblet to Eragon, who held it with both hands to the warmth seeped into him. He glanced out the window to the ground twenty feet below, where elves walked among

  the royal gardens, talking and singing, and fireflies floated through the dusky air.

  "I wish…," said Eragon, "I wish it could always be like this. It's so perfect and quiet."

  Arya stirred her tea. "How fares Saphira?"

  "The same. And you?"

  "I have been preparing to return to the Varden."

  Alarm shot through him. "When?"

  "After the Bloodoath Celebration. I have tarried here far too long as it is, but I have been loath to leave and Islanzadí wished me to stay. Also… I have never attended a Bloodoath

  Celebration and it is the most important of our observances." She considered him over the rim of her goblet. "Is there nothing Oromis can do for you?"

  Eragon forced a weary shrug. "He tried everything he knows."

  They sipped their tea and watched the groups and couples meander along the garden paths. Your studies go well, though?" she asked.

  "They do." In the lull that followed, Eragon picked up the scrap of paper from between the trees and examined her stanzas, as if reading them for the first time. "Do you often write