The Black Morass

by Gerald Lambert

  The lack of his bond is why Galbatorix's partnership with Shruikan, his second dragon, is such a perverted union. Shruikan did not choose Galbatorix as his partner; he was twisted

  by certain black magics into serving Galbatorix's madness. Galbatorix has constructed a depraved imitation of the relationship that you, Eragon, and you, Saphira, possess and that

  he lost when the Urgals murdered his original dragon.

  Glaedr paused and looked between the two of them. His eye was all that moved. That which links you exceeds any simple connection between minds. Your very souls, your

  identities – call it what you will – have been welded on a primal level. His eyes flicked to Eragon. Do you believe that a person's soul is separate from his body?

  "I don't know," said Eragon. "Saphira once took me out o my body and let me see the world through her eyes… It seemed like I was no longer connected to my body. And if the

  wraiths that a sorcerer calls upon can exist, then maybe our consciousness is independent of flesh as well."

  Extending the needlesharp tip of his foreclaw, Glaedr flipped over a rock to expose a woodrat cowering in its nest. He snapped up the rat with a flash of his red tongue; Eragon

  winced as he felt the animal's life extinguished.

  When the flesh is destroyed, so is the soul, said Glaedr.

  "But an animal isn't a person," protested Eragon.

  After your meditations, do you truly believe that any of us are so different from a woodrat? That were are gifted with a miraculous quality that other creatures do not enjoy and that

  somehow preserves our beings after death?

  "No," muttered Eragon.

  I thought not. Because we are so closely joined, when a dragon or Rider is injured, they must harden their hearts and sever the connection between them in order to protect each

  other from unnecessary suffering, even insanity. And since the soul cannot be torn from the flesh, you must resist the temptation to try to take your partner's soul into your own

  body and shelter it there, as that will result in both your deaths. Even if it were possible, it would be an abomination to have multiple counsciousnesses in one body.

  "How terrible," said Eragon, "to die alone, separate even from the one who is closest to you."

  Everyone dies alone, Eragon. Whether you are a king on a battlefield or a lowly peasant lying in bed among your family, no one can accompany you into the void… Now I will have

  you practice separating your counsciousnesses. Start by…

  Odette watched from a far corner, her thin frame shaking slightly at the brutality of the fight. She tried distracting herself with the pale hatchling that had settled for twisting around

  both her and Camilla, but she couldn't block out the noise. Her eyes glanced up at Camilla before swiveling to look at the back of Murtagh's head, just able to see his profile as he

  stood with his arms folded, watching them all fighting meticulously.

  He tensed his fingers against his arm, watching every blow from Hal land on Mariah and Kieran. They were more than a match for him, and he had no doubt who was going to

  succeed, but Hal still had a death wish. It was clear in his every reckless movement he had no regard for his own life, only victory.

  Wiping blood from her mouth, she glared at Hal from her hands and knees, fingers still wrapped tightly around her sword. He was weaponless now and had attempted physical

  dominance without much success. Mariah spat, pushing herself back up again as the blood hit the stone at her feet. "Had enough yet soldier?"

  He balled up his fists again, breathing heavily as blood gushed from the tear in his torso. "You look like you're ready to quit." He glanced at Kieran to his right, waving a bloodied

  Eirian at him.

  "Far from it. I can do this all day." Mariah lunged toward him again, stabbing towards his shoulder. He felt the blade slide through his muscle, shouting in agony.

  "Bitch." He shoved her off of him and grasped his shoulder. Blood surged from the gash quickly, his adrenaline sending quick pumps through every vein. He paled and hit the ground

  heavily. "You nearly took my arm off…"

  "Sharpened steel can kill anyone. She told you that. Do you submit?" Kieran asked.

  "Sard!" He glared at them both as Mariah tapped her sword against his chin.

  The princess watched as Mariah whispered down at him, "I can push harder."

  "Riders don't quit."

  "You aren't a Rider." She smirked.

  He set his jaw. "A Rider doesn't know defeat."

  "Then you die upon my blade." He kicked her feet out from beneath her and pounced on top of her. His wounded arm splattered blood on the both of them as they tussled on the

  ground. Mariah found purchase on her knife in her boot and whipped it up towards his face. The knife split his cheek and brow open on the right side of his face, from his chin to his

  forehead. He howled and pushed away from her, pawing at the wound. She backed away, watching him writhe for a moment before he turned his gaze back to her. "Are you done

  now Hal?"

  "I'm never going to grovel at your feet." He spat blood on her boots and exhaled heavily. "Rider or not. Princess or not. I refuse." He watched as Kieran came towards him, her

  blade still dripping with his blood. He got back on his feet, staring her down. "I'll not die on the ground bleeding to death."

  Kieran stood nose to nose with him, her breath hot on his lips. "Good."

  He blinked and felt his knees wobble as Galbatorix clapped. "You fought well. You're bleeding, about to shut down from blood loss I suspect, and still standing. Innes." The blond

  rushed to Hal and muttered healing spells to seal up the wounds. The larger boy shoved him off afterward and hobbled towards the bench against the wall of the castle. "Good. Shall

  we have another today? I grow impatient. You three fight amongst yourselves, we'll see who comes out the victor, and he shall have his reward." Innes exchanged a glance with

  Pearce and Cedric, smirking at them before his lips parted; a spell already on the tip of his silver tongue.

  As their fight began, Mariah caught Murtagh's hard gaze. She tore her eyes away and turned to go back into the castle. Galbatorix called to her before she could escape.

  "Dawnsinger." His voice chided and she stopped, not bothering to turn to look at him. "Do try to sleep tonight, will you?" She pushed through the doorway as the shiver ran down

  her spine.

  The suggestion from Galbatorix felt invasive, and she knew the sensation of being watched was him. She pulled her armor off and threw her sword to the floor, healing up her

  wounds, wincing as the pain left her body. Mariah moved herself to the fireplace, sitting and stretching as she breathed out the word "Brisingr". With the fire lit, she felt at peace

  enough to settle into a halfsleep, fading into a dream the moment she lost consciousness.

  The familiar head of blond hair forced her heart to skip a beat. She rushed to him, shouting his name. He turned and whisked her up into his open arms, spinning her around until

  she felt dizzy. The embrace felt soft even though she felt as though she wouldn't be able to breathe. Running her fingers through his hair, she smiled up at his face.

  "It's getting long again." She commented, blushing at how close he was.

  He laughed and placed a kiss on her forehead. "You never could let me grow it out."

  "You look better with short hair." She muttered, burying her face in his shoulder. Mariah hummed as he rubbed her back, coaxing her into relaxing. "Sorry."

  "Don't apologize." He said quietly. "You don't have to be sorry for anything."

  "I… thank you." Mariah pulled back and looked up at him again, putting her hand on his cheek. His forgiveness, even if it was her doing, felt comforting. "I miss you."

  "I miss you too." She watched his expression for a minute, shaking her head and burying her fa
ce in his chest. Mariah listened to his heartbeat and sighed. "Mariah?"

  "Yes, Eragon?"

  He lifted her chin up with his fingers affectionately, brushing his nose against hers. Her lips parted slightly as he held her against him before she leaned in slightly, closing the

  distance. She was only there a moment before the kiss broke, leaving her to run her tongue across her lips, tasting blueberries, vanilla, and something else she couldn't quite

  pinpoint.

  Eragon stared at the tray of dinner left in the anteroom of the tree house. He cataloged the contents: bread with hazelnut butter, berries, beans, a bowl of leafy greens, two hardboiled

  eggs – which, in accordance with the elves' beliefs, were unfertilized – and a stoppered jug of fresh spring water. He knew that every dish was prepared with the utmost

  care, that the elves lavished all of their culinary skill upon his meals, and that not even Islanzadí ate better than him.

  He could not bear the sight of the tray.

  I want meat, he growled, stomping back into the bedroom. Saphira looped up at him from her dias. I'd even settle for fish or fowl, anything besides this neverending stream of

  vegetables. They don't fill up my stomach. I'm not a horse; why should I be fed like one?

  Saphira unfolded her legs, walked to the edge of the teardrop gap overlooking Ellesméra, and said, I have needed to eat these past few days. Would you like to join me? You can

  cook as much meat as you like and the elves will never know.

  That I would, he said, brightening. Should I get the saddle?

  We won't go that far.

  Eragon fetched his supply of salt, herbs, and other seasonings from his bags and then, careful not to overexert himself, climbed into the gap between the spikes along Saphira's

  spine.

  Launching herself off the ground, Saphira let an updraft waft her high above the city, whereupon she glided off the column of warm air, slipping down and sideways as she followed

  a braided stream through Du Weldenvarden to a pond some miles thence. She landed and hunched low to the ground, making it easier for Eragon to dismount.

  She said, There are rabbits in the grass by the edge of the water. See if you can catch them. In the meantime, I go to hunt deer.

  What, you don't want to share your own prey?

  No, I don't, she replied grumpily. Though I will if those oversized mice elude you.

  He grinned as she took off, then faced the tangled clumps of grass and cow parsnip that surrounded the pond and set about procuring his dinner. Less than a minute later, Eragon

  collected a brace of dead rabbits from their nest. It had taken him but an instant to locate the rabbits with his mind and then kill them with one of the twelve death words. What he

  had learned from Oromis had drained the challenge and excitement from the chase. I didn't even have to stalk them, he thought, remembering the years he had spent honing his

  tracking abilities. He grimaced with sour amusement. I can finally bag any game I want and it seems meaningless to me. At least when I hunted with a pebble with Brom, it was

  still a challenge, but this… this is slaughter.

  The warning of the swordshaper Rhunön returned to him then: "When you can have anything you want by uttering a few words, the goal matters not, only the journey to it."

  I should have paid more attention to her, realized Eragon.

  With practiced movements, he drew his old hunting knife, skinned and gutted the rabbits, and then – putting aside the hearts, lungs, kidneys, and livers buriedthe viscera so that

  the scent would not attract scavengers. Next he dug a pit, filled it with wood and lit a small blaze with magic, since he had not thought to bring his flint and steel. He tended the fire

  until he had a bed of coals. Cutting a wand of dogwood, he stripped the bark and seared the wood over the coals to burn off the bitter sap, then spitted the carcasses on the want

  and suspended them between two forked branches pounded into the ground. For the organs, he placed a flat stone upon a section of coals and greased it with fat for a makeshit

  frying pan.

  Saphira found him crouched by the fire, slowly turning the want to cook the meat evenly. She landed with a limp deer hanging from her jaws and the remains of a second deer

  clutched in her talons. Measuring her length out in the fragrant grass, she proceeded to gorge upon her prey, eating the entire deer, including the hide. Bones cracked between her

  razor teeth, like branches snapping in a gale.

  When the rabbits were ready, Eragon waved them in the air to cool them, then stared at the glistening, golden meat, the smell of which he found almost unbearable enticing. As he

  opened his mouth to take the first bite, his thoughts turned unbidden to his meditations. He remembered his excursions into the minds of birds and squirrels and mice, how full of

  energy they felt and how vigorously they fought for the right to exist in the face of danger. And if this life is all they have…

  Gripped by revulsion, Eragon thrust the meat away, as appalled by the fact that he had killed the rabbits as if he had murdered two people. His stomach churned and threatened to make him purge himself.

  Saphira paused in her feast to eye him with concern.

  Taking a long breath, Eragon pressed his fists against his knees in an attempt to master himself and understand why he was so strongly affected. His entire life he had eaten meat,

  fish, and fowl. He enjoyed it. And yet it now made him physically ill to consider dining upon the rabbits. He looked at Saphira. I can't do it, he said.

  It is the way of the world that everything eats everything else. Why do you resist the order of things?

  He pondered her question. He did not condemn those who did partake of flesh – he knew that it was the only means of survival for many a poor farmer. But he could no longer do

  so himself unless faced with starvation. Having been inside of a rabbit and having felt what a rabbit feels… eating one would be akin to eating himself. Because we can better

  ourselves, he answered Saphira. Should we give in to our impulses to hurt or kill any who anger us, to take whatever we want from those who are weaker, and, in general, to

  disregard the feelings of others? We are made imperfect and guard against our flaws lest the destroy us. He gestured at the rabbits. As Oromis said, why should we cause

  unnecessary suffering?

  Would you deny all of your desires, then?

  I would deny those that are destructive.

  You are adamant on this?

  Aye.

  In that case, said Saphira, advancing upon him, these will make a fine dessert. In a blink, she gulped down the rabbits and then licked clean the stone with the organs, abrading the

  slate with the barbs on her tongue. I, at least, cannot live on plants alone – that is food for prey, not a dragon. I refuse to be ashamed about how I must sustain myself. Everything

  has its place in the world. Even a rabbit knows that.

  I'm not trying to make you feel guilty, he said, patting her on the leg. This is a personal decision. I won't force my choice upon anyone.

  Very wise, she said with a touch of sarcasm.

  Mariah's eyes snapped open, staring into the embers in the fireplace, still able to taste gentle berries and spice. She went immediately to Kieran's wing of the castle. The sun wasn't

  even up yet and a groan came from behind the door when she knocked. "What?"

  "Kieran. I want to talk to you. It's important."

  There was some swearing and a thud. After a moment of silence Mariah heard her walking across the carpet. With a hiss the princess opened the door, her hair askew and

  sweeping over her face. "It sure as hell better be."

  "I need access to the library."

  "Why?" Kieran asked, smacking her lips and pulling a chunk of hair from her mouth with disgust.

  Mariah hesitate
d for a brief moment. "I want to know more about the Forsworn."

  "No wonder he calls you Dawnsinger now. Up before the sun's in the sky." With a growl she slammed the door. A few more choice swears could be heard through the wood panel of

  the door. Mariah folded her arms and waited. After five minutes of griping, Kieran reappeared in a much stately condition. She jabbed a finger at the younger woman's chest.

  "You're explaining on the way."

  They walked down the stairwell as the early morning set in. The warmth seeped into her skin as she followed behind Kieran's heels, simply telling her she was curious as to what

  information Galbatorix had about his own Forsworn. At her presence, the guards posted at the doors straightened and parted, allowing her entry into the massive room.

  "Let's find what you need." She muttered, ascending the stairs and going into a darkened corner of the room. A few of the books here were singed on their edges, their once proud

  binding desperately holding itself together with burnt black tatters. Kieran pulled at the volumes with discrimination, as though choosing the best apple from a barrel. "Here, start

  with these."

  Mariah looked at the stack and simply sat on the floor, opening the first book and staring at the page. "Half of this is so blurred I can't make it out."

  Kieran nodded. "The Banishing of Names. Only Shruikan and Jarnunvösk were spared, for they played no part in what transpired."

  She looked back at the book, sighing. "I don't know how I'm supposed to find out about my parents then."

  "Your parents?"

  "Galbatorix told me… they are both Forsworn."

  Kieran's face twitched slightly. "Well… their names won't have been banished." She sat down across from her and grabbed another book, flipping through the pages, trying to find

  something legible. After nearly an hour of searching, she found nothing in the vast archives. Snapping the last volume shut, Kieran sighed. "They must have been late to the party,

  because there's nothing in here about them. And we've gone through most of everything. Unless Galbatorix has everything locked up somewhere else."

  "I don't know how I'm supposed to know anything about them if I can't read it."